Scooter Poetry
Well, I just went weak in the poetic knees after reading this, so I had to post it of course. Isn’t this just superb?
Here is a link to the Allen Ginsberg photo mentioned in the poem: http://mysite.verizon.net/paulruby/ginsburgmonkey.jpg
1984 Honda Elite Scooter, 12K miles, $750, 769-3329, Bellefonte
Paul Ruby
Let me tell you about it.
It starts easy
with a little electric motor
attached to the side of a big one.
Kind of like those icky fish that stick
to the side of the big shark in the pulsing
ocean’s belly.
It used to make me so happy
waiting for my stuff to dry,
in front of Splish Splash Laundromat.
And even though I only like the Pina Colada song a little
I dreamed I made whoopee on it
in the dunes of the Cape.
Go ahead, sit on it.
You’ll think you’re in Paris
or India with the monkeys
like in that Allen Ginsburg photo.
Girls will wave
as you drive by.
Forget about a Corvette
that only attracts other guys.
You need this Scooter!
Take it for a spin put on
my helmet.
Your breath fogs the visor
and mixes with my smells
of garlic, dirty hair and extra virgin olive oil
in a squishy corner of your mind.
Now we are close. It’s the smells of our
fore fathers, their fathers and that fellow in the
Raphael painting riding the stinky pony
on the Apian Way.
This scooter is your ticket to ride.
Okay, so it won’t start.
Help me bounce it up and down real hard
to knock some American sense into it.
Notice how the tires leave the ground
coins and tools fly
out of the glove box and bounce
under my ex’s burgundy Camry.
Look down.
That’s her watching us through the laundromat
window. The steamy window of our lives.
