I leaned the rented Harley
graceful through the curves,
behind your quickened pace,
nudging heightened nerves.
The pulsing power, all consuming,
no time for scenery-
just blurring blacktop, painted lines,
sky, and greenery.
Then, a turn that proved too much
and bent right out of sight,
no time to slow or re-decide
just lean and hang on tight.
The one that saw me cross the line,
sliding sideways through his path,
I bet still wishes I had stopped
to brave his right to wrath.
Since the time I learned to ride,
I knew we went too fast,
and somewhere in my youthful mind,
I thought it might not last.
Yet we rode across the vastness
assailing our adventures.
Propelled to do our learning
with egos as our mentors.
And memory still today
is yearning to undue
the shoving off of others
it took to get me through.
Now my paths, much less blurred,
demand a steady pace,
still pining for adventure
but not looking for a race.
This poem was posted for the previous week’s poetry prompt, Imitation. My inspiration for imitation came from Summer Storm by Dana Gioia. He is kind enough to let us all read it here: https://danagioia.com/summer-storm/