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| jo'b |
He sold his eighth and last motorcycle
after a spill — third time down
in fifty years — a concession to age,
and to circumstance — but he kept the jacket.
He thought he could fight off time,
and desire, and the need to be loved,
but each time the weather cleared
and the sun warmed his back,
he felt it again — the wild urge, the thrill
of speed, of freedom, of living,
and, oh, to go down swinging.
— An aphorism among riders: There are only two kinds — those
who have been down, and those who are going down.
