Geezer Bike

Written about an annoying neighbor here in Florida.

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His gray head is way too big.

It seems to have kept on growing after 60,

smoothing out the wrinkles at 70.

His body has shrunk.

Little legs spindly on tiny feet

wrapped in troll cowboy boots,

pointed at the toe,

high in the heel.

Five foot five now and feeling it.

Swagger out the front door.

Bang the screen.

Down the sidewalk to the street.

It's quiet in the neighborhood.

The motorcycle waits at the curb -

ugly, mean, and black,

like a mad dog gone bad.

Ragged toothpick shifts between his teeth,

smug grin on his whiskered face.

Time to wake up the place

with a little wheezer racket

from crazy old Si Beamer.

It's Sunday morning.

The nasty roar shatters bugs against

the window panes across the street, and

dogs bark, startled, angry at the world

for this horrific intrusion.

He cackles, flicks the toothpick in the gutter,

rubs mean hands together,

reaches for the throttle

and revs.

Oh, yeah.

Vibration shakes his old innards,

rips at arthritic joints,

rattles what little brain he has,

shivering the leathery, fleshy jowls

on his too-big head.

He's a mean ole snake and he knows it.

A car pulls up beside him and

stops

Not looking, he flashes a rude hand

The siren splits the air once,

piercing his ears to pain

Now he looks.

Car door opens.

The driver, in uniform and a billy,

steps out,

swaggers around the hood

toward the bike.

The billy comes up, taps the had on the throttle.

Attitude.

More than the geezer's got now.

He adjusts the throttle and the air goes silent.

Dogs are still.

Dead bugs drop off the window panes and

land on the sills

and lay there.

The billy motions.

Get off the bike.

Now!

Cuffs slapped on.

A shove in the backseat,

slam the door.

A boot kicks the bike and watches it fall.

Faces in the neighborhood windows smile.

Heads nod.

The cruiser pulls away,

slowly,

letting the neighbors enjoy it,

then disappeared around a corner

and out of sight.

Kids descend from nowhere,

swarming around the black heap on the curb.

Whispers,

grins splitting young faces.

A brave foot kicks, then another and another.

Yelling.

Shrieks of laughter.

Gotcha!