10/30: Gospel of La Poderosa

Praise the scooter.

Praise the little motorcycle that wasn’t,

praise learning to think in kilometers

where you once reasoned in miles, praise

filling up a tank for less than five US dollars

and it lasts for weeks.

Unless

you decide it’s time to go kissing the wind again,

praise the rushing wind, the way it feels

like no other home you’ve known, praise

learning to lean into turns, praise the zigs

and the zags and 125CCs, praise travel that keeps you as

in and of the land, praise the banana groves,

the bin lang groves, the roadside shrines,

the corner temples, praise the stink

of fermenting tofu and the savory steam

of mutton.  Praise the rains

when they come and soak through to the bone.

Praise pushing your limits, and the machine’s

limits, and feeling freedom and glory, praise wanting

nothing more than to rip off the helmet and lean

headfirst into the atoms as they race past your face

except to arrive alive so you don’t.  Praise

the full coverage helmet, praise every single

involuntary time you imagine what would happen

if you leaned just a little too far.  Praise the wreckage

you see that keeps you from leaning too far.

Praise parking on the beach.  Praise breathing in

the smog.  Praise driving on the sidewalk.  Praise knowing

every inch of this island is now within reach.