It would be nice, but all these dreams were actualized on the seat of a vintage Czech Jawa 250.


A Harley in My Dreams

Wind whistling through what hair remains
Laying her over on the curves,
expediency given over to exhilaration
Tires whine, calling she and I back
to places not yet seen

A Harley in my dreams
Something less at the moment, but
the feel is there, that winding two wheeled
freedom of life in a sleeping bag
Meals caught like wildlife, wherever found

Towns fall like leaves in a meandering
never ending autumn, Bohemia and climbing,
Austria, a flower treasure spilled open, Salzburg,
Innsbruck, St. Moritz at a back road pace,
in a long slide to Italy and friends

The return across French Alps, through ancient
Upheaved falling land turned sideways
Seven Swiss passes, into cloud and through, breaking
sun, breaking my heart, breaking down, patching up,
catching breath, wanting home, wanting never home

Knowing this is home, wondering at life
Stunned that whining tires brought me here,
will take me back, bring me once again
Maybe next year Spain and maybe not, the plan’s
the thing and damn the day wheels stop rolling

Poetry Collection: Broken Pieces
This poem is included in
Jim Freeman’s
poetry collection
BROKEN PIECES
available here in print
or as an e-Book
in your favorite formats.