Monday, September 26, 2011

The Reason I'm Not a Poet

Here’s a little something silly that just kind of slipped out this morning as I sat at my usual table in front of the Cuban Café, listening to the traffic roll by on US 290.

I like my bike,
and my bike likes me.
It’s a silver kind of color
and fast as can be.

AKA a “bicycle,”
It really hugs the road.
Cool as an icicle,
it carries my full load.

I ride it here
And I ride it there.
The ladies see me coming
and they fancy-up their hair.

On my bike I’m
Superman, a steroid masterpiece.
I’ll take you for a ride some time
and give you inner-peace.

And so this rhyme
is over now.  I know that makes you sad.
I’m gonna put my helmet on,
and ride off, Super-bad.

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