༺ hugle ༻

we somehow acquired
a clapped out motorbike
a washing up liquid bottle
for a fuel tank
front brake lever repurposed
as a throttle

the engine actually ran
it was very exciting
but the time spent
naming it “the tiger”
and painting it with stripes
would’ve been better spent
fixing its saddle

at last they gave me a go
on nearby parkland
instructions were given
right brake lever
go
left brake lever
stop
I don’t recall
if gears were involved
such details drowned out
by the intoxication
of the burbling motor
the smell
of popping petrol smoke

by gosh I think I had it
and off I went

bouncing across the grass
the saddle immediately gave way
I slid off the back
the rubber of the back wheel
dangerously close

highly motivated
to keep my boyhood danglies
from being erased
I spontaneously demonstrated
the yoga pose known
as “the scorpion”

from such a position
I was unable to release my grip
on the throttle

weeeeeeee!

such exertions
had taken my attention
from any notion of steering
as it lurched and bounced
around the grassy banks

far too late
I noticed a young tree
supported by cables
approaching at a bit more
than running speed

my neck proved
heroically tougher
than the diagonal wire
that pinged me backwards

the tiger
had a brief spell
of freedom
before it collapsed
into a heap
and growled