Saturday, August 15, 2009

My first and last motorcycle ride


I was twenty
He was the guy all of my friends wanted to sleep with

He lived in an old house on the hill
With all the other members of a band called
“Strawberry Jam”

It was a simple matter of needing to get from one place to the next
There was no pretense of romance
And yet here I was,
The chosen one.

I can still feel the drumming beat of my heart
As we pulled out into the winding asphalt
And I lived, for once in my life,
Purely in the moment


Inhaling his smell of sweat and tobacco
Clinging desperately to his wiry frame
Watching ribbons of green trees fly by.

Later that night, when I stopped again to remember the ride
I also added it to my mental list
Of ways in which I had disobeyed my father.

2 comments:

  1. You're a heck of a shanachie, girl! I like dat one.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Meg, we all have lists of things that you should not have done!

    ReplyDelete