Death Of A Harley Poem by Don Skuravy

The suns musty fall breath spilling onto the roadway
Salty sweat rolling down my wind burnt face
Grease soaked blue jeans, there is a pebble digging in my knee
Fumbling through my tool pouch, did I pack the right wrench
A curious snake swims across my boot I burn my arm on the hot chrome pipe
Fishing for the broken wire sunken within the frame
My vision is flooded with oceans of green flowing grass blades
Bluebonnets splashing about like children in the waves
It’s hard to work on this old girl of mine
Maybe I should have known this was her time
This is her place to die