Old Scooter Breakdown II
We push her into the scenic overlook
a group of people spy us.
As usual the men wander over to help
they pick up tools, give advice.
….
I take off my helmet,
shake out my hair.
As usual, the women turn their backs,
I hear “rider” in their heads.
….
I turn, look out at the overlook,
a moment, a catch in my breath.
A sea of trees before me,
green and red, golden and orange.
…..
The sounds of leaves softly falling,
blanketing the earth.
I look back at her,
she looks tired.
…..
The men gather around her
like surgeons dissecting her parts.
A hope that she will,
make it through another day.
…..
I turn back to the trees,
this is why we rolled her out from the dark corner of the garage.
So, she could feel the wind on her frame
hear the click, click of the gravel on an old country road.
….
Together we smell the leaves,
she and I. As the trees prepare
for another winter solstice.
….
And possibly
our last ride.
….
This poem is from the chapbook Old Scooter Poetry by Karen Lee (Finishing Line Press), and can be found at https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/old-scooter-poetry-by-karen-lee/
Karen Lee is an avid poet, fiction writer, playwright, and graphic artist, and photographer. She resides in Cicero, Indiana but travels the world for fun. This is her first poetry chapbook. Old Scooter Poetry is written as a tribute to her husband Jeff and his constant hoarding of old vespa scooters, parts, and books. She is not an enthusiastic scooter driver but an experience rider.
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