The Motorcyclist

Between steering wheel and
Cigarette lighter,
Is a glance to the rear view mirror.

And the cocky grin of,
The rider behind.

All I see is eyes,
Glinting, and

Sleek, body fit,
Jet-black
Body suit,

Fluid,
But wait.

A twitch in the wrong place,
Sends me back to the mirror.

Becoming a blur to my right,
The old lady up ahead,
Makes her move.

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10 thoughts on “The Motorcyclist

  1. You write good poetry. Straightforward and direct.

  2. Kavita says:

    There was something sad, yet very beautiful about this one…
    But really, one HAS to keep an eye out for the old ladies out there… lest there be mishaps! Now we don’t want those, do we?!

    An excellent story-poem though!

  3. kshawnedgar says:

    I’d like to take a moment to praise you.

  4. randallweiss says:

    I like the imagery and the questions you leave unanswered. A more distinct adjective than “beautiful” would be good when describing the helmet.

  5. Narnie says:

    A terrible beauty in this. It pours emotion in every line and the spacing is immaculate.

  6. Another beauty! Who is ‘she’ I wonder…

  7. alisonamazed says:

    Love his motorcycle poem!

  8. danroberson says:

    A novice in love,
    Just a little too late,
    No chance for love,
    He met his fate.

    Another poem written well.

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