On Four Wheels Next To You
Poem By gershon hepner
Tattoos and leather and a beard,
the uniform of bikers,
are not a proof that that they're more weird
that greener folk, like hikers,
and even if you're over fifty
you may find that your Harley
can give you highs that are more nifty
than those from malted barley.
Though Mondays, Fridays, nine to five,
may make you lose your spirit
the revving sound brings you alive
the moment that you hear it.
Though I prefer to drive around
on four wheels, next to you,
not with the bikers who are bound
limit wheels to two,
perhaps one day my taste will change,
and we'll both take a tour
by riding Harleys on the range,
like single malts, mature.