What the Motorcycle Said
Br-r-r-am-m-m, rackerty-am-m, OM, AM:
All-r-r-room, r-r-ram, ala-bas-ter-
Am, the world’s my oyster.
I hate plastic, wear it black and slick,
hate hardhats, wear one on my head,
That’s what the motorcycle said.
Passed phonies in Fords, knockede down billboards, landed
On the other side of The Gap, and Whee,
When I was born (The Past), baby knew best.
They shook when I bawled, took Freud’s path,
threw away their wrath.
R-r-rackety-am-m. Am. War, rhyme,
soap, meat, marriage, the Phantom Jet
are sh*t, and like that.
Hate pompousness, punishment, patience, am into Love,
hate middle-class moneymakers, live on Dad,
that’s what the motorcycle said.
Br-r-r-am-m-m. It’s Nowsville, man. Passed Oldies, Uglies,
Straighties, Honkies. I’ll never be
mean, tired, or unsexy.
Passed cigarette suckers, souses, mother-fuckers,
losers, went back to Nature and found
how to get VD, stoned.
Passed a cow, too fast to hear her moo, “I rolled
our leaves of grass into one ball.
I am the grassy All.”
Br-r-r-am-m-m, rackety-am-m, OM, Am:
All-gr-r-rin, oooohgah, gl-l-utton-
Am, the world’s my smilebutton.”
― Mona Van Duyn