Sic Fugit Harley (a poem)

7 Jun

sic fugit harley



You make me want to steal a Harley,

drive headlong for your southern hills,

not caring if a storm is rising –

knowing this is what God wills.


Over the limit and under radar,

I’d come for you at fevered pitch –

hugging curves on slippery shoulder,

careening in and out of ditch.


For I would risk mud slides and snow

to drive on up your country lane

and rev my hog in your backyard –

to have you ride with me again.


Toronto, 3 June 2015

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