Musings by The Poet Loriet
Motorcycle Mama
As we sped by the motorcycle,
you got that gleam in your eye.
What is it about men and bikes?
You looked at me looking at you
and said, "You'd look good, you know-
on the back of one of those,
your dark skin and long dark hair...
hmmmm, black leather and we'll
get you a little tattoo..."
I grinned and felt just the
least bit rebellious for
imagining it, as I sat in
the passenger seat of your
mundane family car...
but it was a weekend,
the sun was shining,
the windows rolled down,
wind whipping through our hair,
radio jamming as we sang along...
and for just a slice of
juicy time, I was a
motorcycle mama,
and you were my
dream lover,
fantasy complete
with dry ice,
blue smoke,
polished chrome,
and the roar of
the wild child that
I hold captive in
my imagination.
Lori Beal
you got that gleam in your eye.
What is it about men and bikes?
You looked at me looking at you
and said, "You'd look good, you know-
on the back of one of those,
your dark skin and long dark hair...
hmmmm, black leather and we'll
get you a little tattoo..."
I grinned and felt just the
least bit rebellious for
imagining it, as I sat in
the passenger seat of your
mundane family car...
but it was a weekend,
the sun was shining,
the windows rolled down,
wind whipping through our hair,
radio jamming as we sang along...
and for just a slice of
juicy time, I was a
motorcycle mama,
and you were my
dream lover,
fantasy complete
with dry ice,
blue smoke,
polished chrome,
and the roar of
the wild child that
I hold captive in
my imagination.
Lori Beal
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Motorcycle Mama
Motorcycle Mama