Tag: Motorcycle

motorcycle narcissus

how desperately she looked
at me
consumed by her feelings
but I wasn’t there
I forgot to be present
why?
my damned motorcycle
wouldn’t start
I turned it over and over
in my stupid mind
carburetor, regulator,
vaccuum leak?
“yes” I nodded to
a question she asked
but I didn’t hear
“yes, hmm, yes”
her hands were reaching out
I took them
ashamed of my thoughts
“my husband wants a divorce”
“yes that’s going around” I said
“what?”
“oh nothing,” I purred
it’s always this with her
the ever impending
d-i-v-o-r-c-e
she’ll talk about him
for the next hour
we used to be more than
these conversations
we were something
magical
I look into her eyes
to find the old truth
I’ll see her soul I gaze
so deep
but her eyes are mirrors
I see myself
I see my spark plugs
I can’t look away
damn-it I’ll need to
take the carburetor off

Her obsession

“He accused me of playing games,” she said, looking for reassurance. But I agreed with him.

“You’ve got to try to move on and put this behind you,” I said, avoiding any accusations.

“I know, you were right about that.”

How many years has this cycle repeated itself? I was getting tired. Tired of hearing about B., of being the comforter, the emotional support person, the augur of her relationships. Tired of being a friend.

I got on my motorcycle and rode away. Where was I going? To let the wind clean the dirt off. I’m getting too old for this.