the Monday James Marsh called
from England I was delayed from
my university office having spent
time with the 1989 Harley Accessory
Catalog in the bathroom after Wisconsin
cheese melted on a whole wheat muffin made
in Milwaukee County caused the body to stir

not unpleasantly for admiring the possibility of
a windshield on "Ranger" takes requisite pushing

of imagination as a Sporty with one never stirred
sensibility nor impulse until this winter's eye
injury still fresh now on the first day of
spring we have March snow & the fireplace
stoked but I put the battery right off
a trickle-charger into the bike still
tucked into its vinyl eagle nest
(sloshing through the ice to
the garage the stone curved
path a slippery uncut
trail we're used to
with winter growling nearly as loud
as the V-Twin melting
rumble that announces spring
in Milwaukee better than any frightened
bulb shipped in from the East Coast unable
to poke through ground frost will )

so a call from the BBC got me into a DC-9
saddle cutting this air trail to the Harley-

Davidson Museum stuck in York Pennsylvania
& from my first seat row I rode backwards:
which is appropriate
because I can keep my eye
on Juneau Avenue & Capitol Drive
original facilities in Milwaukee
Wisconsin with my back
to Pennsylvania's
Milwaukee Iron .

next door there's
one of those Jap bikes with
the cowl painted to give an
international racing scream
to the rider sitting behind
fiberglass that gets colder
than leathers.

up my front walk
an ancient Harley-Davidson
Sportster is ridden this
Sunday & into my house
a dear friend & his
son bring along the
fast temperature drop
that has sucked early spring
back into winter's exhaust.
when he leaves his little
boy hangs onto this
mastodom from hell
& those sidepipes
burn leftover leaves
that are not ready now for
summer's rake
.

nor does that red, white
& blue cabaret racer with
its anodized pipes start
as an owner pushes it
toward a garage the
only smoke from
his breathing here in
Milwaukee where cold
hangs onto you as
the roar of bright
chrome headers while
your friend tears down
hardening gutter water
blowing heaven's grace
further into Milwaukee hands
.

the 30th Anniversary XLH sat in the diningroom
during winter months & once after a late movie
when all slept & the first real snow landed
I got on it & turned the lights toward a
front window shinning into the blanket
being tossed upon the birch tree
as winter's comfort & signaling
with yellow flashes reflecting
on an empty television screen:
the first spring rain bringing
this Sportster down the ramp
& across the lawn & sidewalk
to the garage where it
fires up once the carb
swallows ample passion
but the rain keeps any
travel in the alley to
just bead upon fresh
wax or upon the chrome my reflection
while I get down nearer the exhausts
to hear what winter keot in silence.

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