Motorcycle Racer

We’ve been meeting since his PSA

spiked and he decided on surgery.

Radiation finished, nerves nicked

by the robot, he’s had no luck with

Viagra. Yet he’s happy to be alive,

competing with twenty-somethings

while he signs up for Medicare,

his birthday Ducati the last bike

he expects to own. And since he’s

back in the saddle and ready

to take his new monster out

for a maiden voyage, we’ve agreed

today will be our last meeting.

He’ll give me a call when he

turns down my quiet street,

tells me I should listen for the roar

because the only thing I’ll see

will be his brief flash of light.