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.