by Jennifer L Banks
This Sunday wish
Hear the steed growl
Feel the winter wind swish
The engine purr and howl
Smell the burning oil
And my girly fear
Under hot sun, it does boil
He throws "his baby" in gear.
The throttled roar of the take off
The forming lump in my mouth
Begging him to ease off
and heading due South.
I, clutching his old black leather
His iron horse swiftly rides
Through swaying fields of purple heather
Past the languid azure ocean tides.
On the back of his iron steed
We coast quickly and silently along
Dancing on blacktop, light speed
Hearing birds whistle and redwood song
Melting as one with this sexy beast
Touching it's chrome and steel
It begs us to go further east
This February ride does heal
Smell the ancient kicked up dust
And the golden honey from the hive
I do my very best to trust
We make it back alive.