Moments with a Motorcycle Girl
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.
I.
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
II.
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
III.
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
IV.
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 ….
V.
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