Two Bad Bikers (A rhyme, not a poem)

A couple of bad a*s bikers search the town for that perfect "plant".

On a warm sunny day

the kids were out to play,

And there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

A neighbor, working hard,

Was mowing his yard

While his wife stood idly by.

When out they came

Looking somehow the same.

Two bikers ready to ride.

One big and one lean.

They looked scruffy and mean

Wearing chaps of polished cowhide.

Old Fat Boy, Mike,

Climbed his Fatboy Bike,

A joke to a Harley insider.

Slim did the same

Straddling the frame

Of his chopped, nickel-plated Low Rider.

They buckled their bags

And knotted their rags

And donned their Oakley smoked glasses.

Then revved up their hogs

To the howling of dogs

And sped off, both hauling asses.

The mower looked away,

And his wife couldn’t say

Why she wore that silly little grin.

Mothers ran out

Looking all about

Dragging their children back in.

The pair seared the street

Shifting gears with their feet

Looking neither to the left nor the right.

Young boys in the hood

Stopped where they stood

Watching in fear and delight.

Hot pipes shook the earth.

Cars gave a wide berth

To the two that were bad to the bone.

Most heaved a sigh,

As the bikers roared by,

Just glad to have been left alone.

They drove all through town

‘Till the sun settled down

At last reaching their destination.

For hours and hours

They’d been looking at flowers.

‘Till they found the perfect impatien.

Reviews

[David Scott]

Bikers get such a bad rap! Like the playful twist.