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My Old Slash-Two*

Black and chrome and dusty, with it’s leather saddle low;
Jugs protrudin’ outward where the cooler breezes blow.
‘Couple decades come and gone, she’s weathered well the years;
And now my hands are on her grips and climbing through her gears.

Some old sickles really whine, others simply squawk;
But there’s a few, a precious few, whose pipes can really talk!
A sound that’s deep and solid tends to grab me through and through
When I open up the slides on my old Slash-Two.

She idles, oh, so slowly; kinda rockin’ side to side;
Tappets tik-tak tappin’, pistons pumping me with pride.
The gearbox clunks intently and the spokes begin to spin;
Hear it barkin’ through the baffles ‘bove the whistlin’ of the wind.

The throttle sets a certain gait, while with me on the streets
Cars have drivers bobbin’ heads to some broadcasted beat.
They spend their fortunes searching for that tuned-in perfect sound;
The perfect pitch, the perfect mix; can such a thing be found?

Then reaching down another gear, I share with them a clue
As I open up the slides on my old Slash-Two.

Slash-Two: A model of BMW motorcycle built in the 1950s and 1960s. Slides: A part of the carburetor that controls air/fuel flow. Jugs: The engine’s cylinders.

Picture of Wes Stephenson

Wes Stephenson

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



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