The motor bike beast
Starts roaring
Petrol flames and anger
Roaring like a lion
One moment
Grumbling like a bull
The next
I can hear the sound
But I cannot see it
Driven by smoke and thunder
Biting down like a viper
I can hear
The motor bike beast
Standing upright
Demanding a life
People talk outside
About who to sacrifice
I will go I say
Take me to the bonfire
Of its engine
I stand head on
To the motorbike beast
When out of the leather jacket
Comes Jack
A small imaginary boy
With limbs like roly-poly’s
And wings made from his dad’s overcoat
Turtle doves gather round
From far and wide
And whisk jack away
And the motorbike
Picks up its guitar
And sings the blues
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