Biker Babe Passes up Candy / Coming to a Field near You

Biker Babe Passes up Candy

She hangs on the Middlgate Bar
like she needs a prop.
By 3 p.m., she’s got a good start going.
Skin tight black leathers mold her ass.
The fringed chamois vest shows off her
tat just right---long-eyelashed smiling octopus,
a man’s head wrapped in each
A feathered dream catcher
dangles from her platinum blond pony tail,
pulled to the right.
She’s ridden this ride for twenty years,
knows most everybody,
has tried what she wants,
teased the rest to distraction.

In walks a newbie---25 at most---
tanned like turned-on-a-spit,
his hunter green t-shirt
caresses pects to die for. Tall but not
gargantuan, features chisled a la Michelangelo,
with five older men from California---the
valley and Half Moon Bay.
She learns he’s the engineer
of a hotter than hot three wheeler
with a Toyota engine, that cracks a hundred twenty
easy. His smile gleams like some lamp, welcomes
the whole world---his gig the next
rad design, svelte scupture of chrome and enamel.
The older dudes dig him, keep him revved,
getting richer all the time.

Finally, she has to admit she’s absolutely
a dirty old woman. Her friends
egg her on to seduce him; she
stalls; my body’s not what it once was.
So I’d rather watch this georgeous boy
than take him out to play, let him see my droops.
Hell, I can imagine him all day and all night.
Dream his every crack and cell like I’ve inhaled him.
Moan with the come I conjure---again and again.
Leave him loose, untried
seduced in mind over each luscious inch.
So much better than the real
deal with anybody else here.

Coming to a Field near You

Black Water
molten with intrigue
molasses heavy
drips putrid into honey buckets.
Blooms up
Did ya ever see
black water
with no cottonmouth?

Blood surges
black dahlias haunt
roses of unnatural dark scare
dusky gladioli hide faces.
Black vines
jungle night strangler
wandering jew (new
diaspora approaches).
Black Water
Moats keep law and citizens out
Extinguish light and life.
Drown stars.
Free to the highest bidder
runs pure black coercion. Elizabeth I. Riseden