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.