Pick the Harley up fron the kickstand's lean.
Choke it, kick it over, bring it to life,
Twist the throttle,
Rape the silence of the night.
Rain drops sweet needles penance
upon my weary countenance.
Jim is in my brain singing
about the dangers of
riding in the storm. When wet
all reflected light is torn in ragged
ribbons trailing downward fading
to nothing in the night's asphalt.
The sign says, "King Ranch, five
miles to heaven, where thieves
and vagabonds dare not,
surely honest men shall
not tresspass." Being two
out of the three, I'm sure they
will allow me passage. It is
after all wrong to steal anything,
except, your attention for a moment.
Blink past the midnight's raindrops that
long ago soaked me through to the skin,
to discover a new brand of spiritual refreshment.
Press on to Freer, streak
past the Eight Foot Rattlesnake
gas station. I have this urgent
need to see Laredo at dawn.
This nearly extinct rain at last
clears my head by force of the wind.
The creep of daylight upon the Mesquite
grows to say, "I am the cusp of countries,
Welcome to Laredo." I'm up for some
Huevos Rancheros for breakfast.
If I back track to Eighty Three
I could make it no sweat to the
Guadilupe Mountains by noon,
Maybe stop to admire the vaginal
gash of the Grand Canyon, tomorrow.
They say it never rains in
Spend one night in the Hotel Del Coronado,
Turn over the pillow
knowing the mint is there,
and head back home to you,
Vee Twin Night Train screaming across
Death Valley, God Willing.
William J. Karnowski
author of "PUSHING THE CHAIN"