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An Idle Interest

The old garage was filled with light
As door gave way to key;
And there, within, a pair of twins,
One flat, the other Vee.

I fired up the boxer twin,
It shuddered at the cold;
But soon that Beemer barked the beat,
It’s even cadence bold.

That sound was such a pleasure,
With tappets keeping time;
I love to hear it idle slow,
It`s rumble like a rhyme.

I left that motor drumming
And stepped across the floor,
Flipped a switch, gave grip a twist,
And lit that Harley’s roar.

The Hog, with coughs and sneezes
Then shook away the sleep;
Then came a tone that’s all her own
That resonated deep.

It’s firing order staggered;
A pause ‘tween each “ka-boom”,
An interesting session
Of jazz filled up the room.

I closed my eyes and listened,
Then sank down to my knees;
As thundered tones of idling twins
Sent music on the breeze.

I chuckled then as I recalled
Those Sunday School recitals;
For there I stood, a saint no good,
Just worshiping those “idles”.

Picture of Wes Stephenson

Wes Stephenson

Author, motorcyclist, poet, and adventurer. Let's journey together.



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