Rat Bike
It was an aged BMW
kill switch on the handlebar
excessive mud tire on the rear
a hill climber stripped of
fenders, mufflers, all that
rendered her street legal
but still a headlight
so there was ghastly form
to her at night on the
rainslick streets as fire
shot out behind her
tracers for cops and
those who turned their
heads to register
the howl, mouths ajar
I changed the torque
to highway sprocket
and rode the rat to work
and play, gave all ladies
rides clasped to my back
neck nuzzling and
hands astray
We roamed the highways
for a roadhouse
for relief from goblin
vibes and eye-peeling
wind our hair like
rats nests our ears
blanked out from
cheek-distorting Gs
and unmuffled CCs
Inside a bar we
shivered quickly
ordered drinks and
scoped the place
for dangers lurking
shot some pool and
warmed by rum we
agreed to play call-it
eightball with some
denizens who would
not pay. I told her to
use the ladies,’ climb
through the window
then I slid outside
fired up the rat, she
leaped on back and
we shot away.
It began to snow
we slid swervy
into the Bluebird
Motel and I wheeled
the rat into the room
shut off the gas cock
to the tank leaned her
back against the wall.
Will your old man
miss you I asked
she said Wouldn’t you?
***
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Photo by Ali McCarley/Flickr