The Motorcyclist
In the rear view is a big slab rider in
tiger prints on the open road.
Off the pike and down the route, I
see my breath she sees the inside of
a brain bucket lid.
Crispy corn snakes slither between those
bubble gum wheels, I see my breath she
parts the fog with hot drag pipes.
Her gore-tex grips those tasseled ape hangers, in
armor head to toe.
The silence breaks into four-banger parade,
I see my breath she lets off the
binder and flogs up the dawn.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
