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They say I have a Disability. Dis-Ability is one I love, remembering that growing older is inevitable, Growing up on the other hand is a matter of choice.
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Arthritic Cure?
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Each morning I rise up from my bed
My head still reeling, half forgotten dreams.
Haunting scenes, remember words the Houri said.
But realize that, all’s not what it seems.

Arthritis jerks me wide awake
The pain runs through my tortured spine.
Into the kitchen my coffee to make.
Then pop a pill, now feeling fine.

Look outside, examine the sky
A little cloud ‘gainst shimmering blue
I smile and think, ‘tis time to fly
To do the thing, I love to do.

Freedom courses through my soul.
Warm wind blows against my face.
Adrenaline rush that makes me whole.
As I drop a gear and start to race.

Along the mountain roads I ride
Flames as foot pegs scrape the road.
Corner sharp, the throttle wide
Slide as the rear wheel takes the load.

Up one gear as I hit the straight.
Front wheel rises as a prancing horse.
Alone with the Gods, life will not wait.
I set my sights on a straightened course.

The needle moves around the clock
As a hundred horses are unleashed.
Twin throat carbs begin to work
And another gear is then released.

A hundred and sixty as I see the bend,
Throttle down to ninety five
My knee is inches from the ground.
The thrill of the ride, I feel alive.

I turn around and head for home.
Ride toward the setting sun.
Upon this beast of black and chrome.
Tomorrow I’ll pay for this day of fun.

Robin A Spicer © 2003-23-03