Motorcycle Mama by Alan Catlin

She had a heart
tattooed on her
right arm, a baby
in a carriage on
the left, a phoenix
rising between her
breasts, both eyes
focused dead ahead,
forged in fire, riding
the sacred Harley
night leaving tracks
on her skin as
if it were black top
on a moonless night
her friends and relations
shot things down in
for fun, on some Route
66 in her mind;
the way she was hauling
ass she would need a
road crew to do plastic
surgery on her life
unless she let up
on the throttle
but by then it would
be too late.