Nobody You Know
wears a denim jacket with cut-
off sleeves so really
it’s a vest multicolored
inked snakes coil around his arms’
dark sweating muscles
under his pickelhaube chrome
spike smudged with grease or
is it blood his long curly
dirty blond locks blow as he
revs his hog riding
your bumper sneering scowling
goggles tinted black
he looks like a giant wasp
one with a waxed wing mustache &
heavy five o’clock
shadow at a quarter till
noon in your rearview
the message from the maker
offers no consolation
he appears closer
than you want the angel of
death pointing at you
with his black fingerless glove
throttles past you up the road