How I Became A Biker Babe

Colorado is a long way.
18 hours of passing lanes.
Hit the road Jack(ie)…

So I followed them, I did.

Curiosity in the wind.
I, in the driver’s seat,
tailed them for hours, wondering
about helmets and handlebars
and leather pants hauling a-
cross country.

There were 9 of them

by my count, on
two wheels and free.
I was on four, encumbered by five
sets of legs and arms
and makeshift campsites staked within
my  four wheel drive,
with no one budging
from macs, ipods, dvds ,
earphones, books and iphones.

Mesmerized  or hypnotized,

I moved with them,
bending to the road’s every whim.
Until…
my inner biker babe
awakened
and I became one of them,
the rear guard
in a Chevy.
(It must have been
how Cinderella felt
in that pumpkin with all those rats.)

There weren’t many profound thoughts

on the road that day.
I rode free and wished to be
with them in the wind.

No, my daughter didn’t see the mountainous grandeur.

She didn’t see the sheer rock cliffs,
the fluttering aspen leaves
or cloudless, blue sky.
She didn’t notice or gasp in awe at the rushing river,
or bend to the rhythm of the road.

Instead, she saw the one thing

that is permanently seared into her Colorado memory.
For, the very moment she lifted her eyes,
(right before she rolled them back as far  as she could)

She witnessed her mother raise a fist…

Harley style
to a pack of bikers
as they left the road
before midnight.


Patricia Spreng

Joining the gang at dVerse Poets for Open Link Night... come on along for the ride.