(We’re Both Vintage Models)
Honda 305 Dreams
My body is a vintage motorcycle I struggle to keep running.
My plug, doesn’t spark like it used to, with that bright eagerness to throw my leg over a saddle and ride baby ride!
My gas tank, too, brimmed once with high-octane spirits, and sped me past the days of my life like trees blurring by the roadside.
Now, my fuel petcock lever sits on Reserve, a finger-flick from Off.
My throttle-blips at Red stoplights belie the go of Green to come. A massive truck grinds up my guts in diesel gears behind!
I kick the shifter down to first, give it gas––my clutch slips–I’m almost lost . . .
My white-wall tires are dingy with the dirt of half-forgotten highways.Their flabby rubber over-pressures the combustion chambers of my heart. My rpms drop, my ignition pulse turns thready, my eyes close like headlights dimming and I dread the final stall to come.
David Floody 2020Share on Social Media