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Moments with a Motorcycle Girl

Updated on November 2, 2011
Photo of the poet
Photo of the poet

Moments with a Motorcycle Girl is a poem in five stages. It was inspired by watching a woman I didn’t know who was posing with her motorcycle. In the first glance, I saw one thing. With a longer look, I saw something else. And ultimately most of what we see in strangers is really an observation on ourselves.


Exquisite contrast of shadows and sparkles

Feathered patterns cascade gently

Silver shimmers in small subtleties

Her secrets emanate from translucent skin

A solid stare penetrates from glinting eyes

Stunning how hardened against soft flesh she can be

Wearing almost nothing

Sheathed in armor

It takes years to learn her level of self-protection

And years more to deconstruct down to

The core self


Practiced pose

Perfectly flawed

Silent stare

Firmed thighs

Loose top

One hand clasped

Slim skin of neck

Cupped elbow

Each stance a form of self-defense

An open eyed look but a closed persona

Metal in nose

Studs on boots

She is not soft enough to be vulnerable

Except when she is too soft

Wisp of bangs

Plastered down

She would refuse to be bound

Refuse to be held


Hands hidden in shadows

Holding a steady grip on the seat

A too-cute motorcycle betrays her reality

Seeming so innocent in its fun

Shiny paint, silly shape

It pretends that you need no protection

She poses there easily

Stands in a swimsuit

Assumes the position

Pretends there is no threat here

But she has studded boots meant for kicking

And a simple lack of a smile

That reminds the onlooker that

There is always something to fear

A menace exists in every room

An accident is always waiting to happen

Her innocent curves appeal

But can kill at 60mph

Destroying self and others

She is pink and cute, metallic and hard

Only the final crash is honest


She is cerulean silver

Waves against a glittering sky

Meteor shower extending into morning

Kiss of metal against dying lips

Hardened glint behind liquid eyes

Flower against speckled graffiti

And peaches tattooed on a breast

She is the key to unlocking me

The details are all that matter

She is cool warmth, cold humanity

Frolicking fun against a serious stench

Lithe frame against a gymnast’s rigor

She is the essence of minerals

The slice of diamond against silk

The perfection of all contradictions

She is me, myself, eye ….


A transformation is possible

A simple change in style

The reveal of so many subtleties

Thighs softened

Knees turned inwards

Suddenly a hard shell gives way to genuine softness

A split opens the door for femininity

This is no one eighty, no three sixty

Self-protection remains but in a new format

It is shaded, gilded, easier

What emerges is sadness

A profound sense of loss, of grief

But of security

A gaze reveals minutia in her details

What appeared to be playful mess is pensiveness

We each contain this soft intensity

The quiet desperation of limited accessibility

The unguarded depression of walls dropping

Solace only in choosing when they drop

Instead of letting them cave in around us

Choosing our own transformations


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