My Motorcycle Poem by RIC BASTASA

i bought one in 1998.
i left it to the care of my
brother-in-law and it was
well taken-cared of. Shiny.

Then he broke his leg
because of the black dog
that crossed the street
early dawn when the
streets are still dark.

then my other sisters
and brothers claim that
they have rights over the
wheel, and the cover and
the steer. I keep my mouth
shut. And they were talking
about the prostitute,
how cheap she was, and
still roams the street at
night looking for her
prey. I think she is the
victim of a vampire.

and then everyone takes
a ride on my motorcycle
inventing the names of
the places they want
to go. I keep my mouth
shut. About the prostitute
about rights that were
not there.

and they ask me about
a name. Who? and they
demand the exact place
where she lives. But most
of them ask me: why?

i guess they know better.
but let me answer them
straight;

The motorcycle is
the prostitute and they
are the ones
who are cheap. They
cheat and i am the victim
and they are the
vampires.

do not ask me now.
i am in the middle of my anger.