The Benevolent Outlaw

Hello, my name is Michael, and I’m an addict.

My kick isn’t special K, meth, or G.

Don’t have time for alcohol.

Give me a motorcycle like an MV Agusta.

That’s my drug of choice.

Insanity is doing the same thing but expecting different results.

My morning mantra is ‘take an easy ride to work‘.

These tired eyes are glued half shut until she fires up.

The song of the engine pulls me to the surface.

Pulling away from my house on part throttle,

Short-shifting to appease the neighbors,

Kind of like crossing the pits to staging.

There’s magic in the air just riding this bike.

What started off as ‘ride to work’

Escalated to search-and-destroy.

A woman in big sunglasses holds her phone horizontally, pulls her Benz out without a look.

Senna’s words are hard-wired into my brain.

“If you no longer go for a gap that exists-you are no longer a racer”

Dropping two gears, I roll open the throttle and flick her over.

The bike moves like an extension of my body,

The screaming wail coming from within.

Frustration, pain and anger, shouting out of the pipes.

I wanted to destroy everything in my path.

I rocket past on a wall of sound, running a wide line.

Next corner a tight line to get maximum drive,

Catapulting by three cars before the start of the best stretch.

Some see traffic, I see opportunity.

I’m playing with the rent money now, pushing hard.

Ripping and running is freedom.

The rush is better than anything over or under the counter.

A twist of the wrist, and here becomes there.

Down a gear and disappear.

All sound and fury and frightful velocity.

Maybe I lack acceptance?

I smile at those who struggle to be in the moment.

Ride one of these beasts…you’ll be in the moment.

I took the long way to work,

yet somehow got there sooner.

High on the intensity,

I walked into work still flying,

But the truth cut through my speed daze.

I’m tied to a job I hate, to pay for my bad habits.

Only at speed do I feel alive.

The bike transforms me.

From working-class hero to benevolent outlaw.

Had a pretty woman in my life once.

She called the bike my mistress,

Saying it gave me things she couldn’t.

How I walked taller after a spirited ride.

And she liked that.

I’ve carried more scars from relationships than any crash.

I know more or less how much traction I have with a bike,

But not in relationships.

The lovers come and go.

But the bike is with me through it all.

Just turn the key and I’m gone.