Poetry Porch: Poetry


by Richard Aston 

Twelve motorcycles
manned by boys in black shirts.
One girl’s blouse blows.

Down the interstate
eighty miles per hour
aligned like a flock.

More than twelve tattoos:
snakes, spiders, abstractions.
On one, a cross.

As we gawk, they stop
their meticulously kept bikes
edged in shining chrome

and model, thereby,
almost any gaggle
of like-minded people

whether scientists
convening or family
returning home

becoming involved
with others of passion
who gather because

of beauty or truth,
embodying the ineffable 
that joins them.

Copyright © 2003 by Richard Aston.