Motorcyclists
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.
