On Snowflake: An Ode

 Snowflake’s my Sportster

He’s small and he’s white

He’s the perfect motorcycle

If your experience is light.

 

To handle at Sportster

At slow speeds is tough

And I must attest that

My right turns are rough.

 

Snowflake’s seen the sky

Lying on his right flank

While I try to reassure

The tellers from the bank.

 

Still Snowflake has mastered

Hills that are steep

And stopping quickly to avoid

A flock of stunned sheep.

 

To ride him is a glory

When the bugs stay away

And the wind is behind me

On a hot summer day.

 

Sometimes it feels

Like he’s not there at all

Just the purr of his motor

And the highway’s soft call.

 

This summer in Wyoming

There was some consternation

When Snowflake was issued

A traffic citation.

 

“Too fast,” said the State Trooper

And I certainly agreed.

Those 1200 CC’s

Are a temptation to speed.

 

Snowflake’s quick, He’s the boss

 Oh the mindless joy he can bring,

But I’m sad to report

Snowflake’s parked till next spring

This entry was posted on October 16, 2009 at 7:42 pm and is filed under On Life, On Travel. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response or trackback from your own site.