Ponderings from Beaufort St - 13th May 2013
I stopped
and waited at the lights
Before ambling
on my way
Turning my
head to the right
I saw him
on his bike
Waiting at funeral
parlour door
His bike, was
black and shiny
A long low Harley
Powerful,
muscled beast
It growled and
grumbled
At being
held in check
The rider,
leather clad was all in black
His face in
anonymity hid
Scarf
wrapped in black
The door rolled
up and into yawning space
He rolled
his growling beast
Had he come
to collect
Some Recalcitrant
soul
From
Parlour’s home
The lights changed
I scurried
on my way
And pondered
whether death
Had gone
up-market
Trading in
his horse
For metalled
beast
Had death
given up the robes of drag
And clad
himself in modernity’s garb
The day
will come when death and I will meet
And when he
rolls towards me
To knock me
off my feet
I hope it’s
on his Harley
He comes
for me
__________________________
Walking to
work I pass a funeral home/parlour which is on a corner of the street. This morning as I waited at the lights one of
the workers, well I assume he was a worker, dressed all in black waited on his Harley to
enter. There is something deliciously
ironic about seeing a black clad biker in a Harley going into a funeral
parlour!
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