I got up this morning, and slipped on my old blue jeans
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The ones with the holes in the knees, and coming apart at the seams
I dug thru my draw, hunting my favorite Harley tee,
You know the one, “Gas, grass, or ass, no one rides for free”
I ran my belt thru every loop that was still there,
Some had been fixed so many times, they were beyond repair
I slid my wallet deep into my right hip pocket.
Anticipating the days ride on my V-Twin rocket.
With my boots slid on, I was prepared for the day
Bob Segar on the radio, singing “Roll me away”
I grabbed my long hair, and laced it tightly into a braid,
And put on my dew rag, assuring that it stayed.
Like a cowboy from the old west, I laced on my chaps.
Adjusting there fit, before clasping all the snaps.
I grab my jacket, and slip on my dark shades,
Like a knight from the past, setting out on a crusade
I place the key in the ignition, as I straddled my ride
I felt the beast come to life, breathing fire from inside.
The sound of the motor, your mechanical heart beat,
I put it in gear, and roll out onto the street
Rolling on the power, I feel a great sense of release,
For I am one with the machine, and the machine and I are at peace
I admire the tranquil beauty, and all Mother Nature has to show
Not caring where I’m going, just rolling with the flow.
I wind my way thru the valley, chasing the morning sun,
I feel as if I’m the outlaw, the one who’s always on the run.
I’ll stop long enough on the mountain top, to admire another sunset.
Just me and my machine, cast in a simple dark silhouette
I salute you freedom, my old friend, as I raise my whisky bottle.
Ill climb back on my machine again, and simply Roll on the Throttle
Steve E. Poore
Sept 16th, 2007
STEVE E. POORE