Aha!
I know who wrote this one. Hello Michael
I posted a Les Murray poem that it reminded me of.
I loved this when I read it first and I still do.
Janet
The Wind Rides a Harley
The Wind once rode a big black, bad-ass Hawg,
a twisted blue bandanna on his head:
tattooed and sleeveless; lean, mean junkyard dog.
Now every flaming-asshole-walking-dead
executive has got hisself a bike:
middle-aged accountants dress alike
in stiff new leather gear, with HARLEY splashed
across their backs. The Wind stays home. Unwed,
alone, he surfs the net for porn instead
of cruising roads; eats Sugar Corn Pops stashed
beneath the bed; or sits and smokes his dope.
He thinks to buy some sneakers, join a group
that walks most mornings at the mall. He'll cope,
he says, and opens up a can of soup.