Only two days until Not Your Average Sonnet is available for purchase on Amazon. It’s so close I can feel it in my sphincter. Wait, that’s not right. Bones. I can feel it in my bones. That’s how the saying goes, right?
This particular poem was gifted to me by the biker crew which shows up at the cafe every weekend. Some things in life are difficult to make fun of. You really have to search for something. This, however, is not one of those things.
They pedal in with hardened heads robust
in glare defined in calves without regard
designer spandex to enhance the thrust
of overworked thighs shred of any lard
patella tendons saved, unlike those dumb
runners keen on sabotaging their knees
and scampering until both feet are numb
their silly string limbs ephemeral like cheese.
The bikers, though they’ve got it right their glut
of muscle maturating every day
until ratio of quad to butt
is perfectly aligned, so when cars stray
into the bike lane, they will have to beg
for mercy from the almighty leg.