posted May 23, 2003 11:16 PM         

Dusty roads
A bit too dusty I suppose
Against the brightly colored houses
That form a canyon of the boulevard
Against the muffled sound of shiny steeds
All crimson, purple, gold and green
Chromed and oiled the wheels converge
The warriors have arrived
Masking the children in their eyes
They wear their pride like crowns
These ebony princes
These stoic riders
Huddled in that mass of rubber
Steel and open toes
Their plans to lead the open road
Are formed in haste
Mustn't waste time
For the sunset calls too soon
And dusty biker kings have mother queens
Drawing their baths at home
With dinner too
And so they plan their ride.

Faint at first
The sound of creaky desperation, loneliness
One-footed push along the lane
Headed toward their throng
Acting like there's nothing wrong
They turn their heads
Behold, a princess comes
Upon her flat-black scooted mount
An ivory paradox
To lovely to be ugly I suppose
Yet too different to be one of them
With that freckled pointed nose
And steel blue eyes
Perched upon her slow and muddied ride
So weak inside
Approaching they look upon her
As cats might watch leaves fall
Seems as though they've none at all
But there's a casual interest in her movements
A quickly fading freakshow fascination.

They turn to go
Not even waiting there to know
If she would ride
There isn't time enough for them
To even chide her muddiness
To deride her scooter's sillyness
No time to point to rosy drink stains
On her dress
And laugh the mighty laugh
They know will strike her down
There is no time to see her frown
Or watch her cry
No time to watch the tears wash dirt
Out of the corners of her eyes
No urge again to watch her die
Curl up and blow away inside
There is no time to taunt this girl
Just time to ride.