Thursday, June 21, 2007

A poem by Chopper Kate Johnson

Last Leg

The last leg on this long limbed trip
feeling dusty,kinda crusty and saddle weary
my hands black
from the constant grip.
Red, road hard eyes,
grit and burn.
These lines are getting bleary.
I'm leaning hard into the turn
I've got a 100 miles left to home

A mind's highway rolls
a thousand thoughts and dreams
reflections paying tolls
of regrets and mighta beens
appear, then drift away
like a wind that ebbs and blows
I've got another 50 miles left to home

Wearing the dust
of all those rides
in the lines of my face
wind etched, it never hides
or masks what I am.
What you see is, what you get!
I've got 25 miles left to home

Two bad knees, and an aching shoulder
my bitch riding, constant companion.
The cost of the pounding we take,
we pay as we get older.
I've still got 10 miles left to home

When I think I can't go on,
can't take riding any longer,
something takes over,
from somewhere inside
a deep seeded want
that just grows stronger,
and the longer goes the ride,
self doubts and dreads
so all I feel
is the comfort that awaits
just over the next hill
I've got just 5 miles left
to home.
copyright 2007/chopperkatejohnson

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