Passenger  Michael James

Two views from a car window showing the advantages of being a passenger

PERSPECTIVE 

A belt of ragged, grey cloud floats along the mountain's flank 

separated from the low ceiling above. 

It catches in trees which appear to tear at it and slow its drift. 

But I know from seeing them once up close, 

That the trees aren't moving. 

They stand, like eternal truths,

as clouds flow round them.

TRIUMPH

Drawn up to the light at a hectic intersection,

l, passenger, hear the buzz just before I see  

a bright yellow gas tank slide into place next to me, 

Close, between the lanes of cars.

Perched snugly on the saddle, 

Right up to the sloping hump where 

tank meets leather, 

pink and white tights

cover the bold buns, the audacious curves 

of an olympic gymnast. 

The youthful arch of her back 

Allows her an aggressive racing stance

so that her eyes rest level 

with the top of the small windshield.

The rider turns to face me 

As I express my admiration. 

"Bounding buns on a bike," 

I murmur through the open window. 

The whites of her eyes, wide with amusement, 

shine out of the helmet that covers her swarthy face, 

and she smiles towards me then drops her left foot 

on the gear shift lever and revs through the intersection.

Michael's Bio (and his bike) may be viewed by clicking WRITER'S BIOGRAPHIES  at the side panel.