MY MOST ENIGMATIC APPROACH
On these roads the guys don't wear
helmets when they pounce those
motor-sickles. All the guys from
Baer's like the tickles on their
scalp and all those hairs go flying.
I've not yet seen a female head
unfettered. Must be Maybelline.
Like any old time I used to know,
they ride, but no no one gets drunk.
Or drunk enough to show? Or go?
I don't know - we used to, what we
called, 'recreational dunk drive' -
like an adder slinking somewhere
off across a road.
-
Never you mind. This bears no
recognition factor to life as it should
be lived. Out behind the dealership,
and down the hill, across the river,
the rest of the real town just waits.
It's not much, anymore : Just lawyers
and a courthouse, houses and gates,
a library and some swooning local
businesses that each wish for better
days. There's an old stained-glass
I've seen - up above some doorway -
that names a car-shop or a dealer,
when they used to be downtown.
I guess. CVS, Walgreens, fast-food
places, and some coffee shops too.
-
Here come those motorcycle boys,
ripping on through. It's so hard
to sit outside.
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