Motorcycle Season

It is April in Virginia

It is the day your boyfriend

brings home a motorcycle from his job

at the Kawasaki place

and you wonder where and how

and why

and then he says, “Come on.”

So you go –

down the main, off the drag into the hills

past the wisteria just bloomed

sweetness seeping into your helmet.

Down down the steep

through the damp spring tunnel

to the river flower trees

where power

rushes into electric.

All too fast all too free all too gone in an instant

and suddenly you understand

and you say,

“Yes. We’ll keep it.”

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