Motorcycle Mama
she glided by in the fast lane on my left.
straddling the hind end of a hog,
looking elegant and lost.
in my mind I met her
at an art festival.
her denim outfit graced her curves,
she had a great ass,
you could tell.
we had coffee and talked,
and talked, and laughed.
she cradled my arm as we strolled
the shady, art-lined sidewalks.
I watched as her image passed
from my rear view mirror
to the peripheral field of vision
on my left.
her auburn hair tied up
in a bow beneath the red kerchief.
the suntanned
nape of her neck
the perfect back drop
for the silver earrings.
after she moved in,
we’d make love every night
the way new lovers
always do.
I know that far-away look.
you only think you’re trapped baby.
I could love you
as much as you want
to be loved.
the hog slides into the lane
in front of me. The asshole
didn’t even bother
with the turn signal.
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