Crotch Rocket Poem by Rev. Dr. A. Jacob Hassler

i was jealous, but i don’t know why
perhaps it was because i felt emasculated,
picturing you on the back of that crotch rocket
tightly hugging his denim-clad middle-aged belly trying
to hang on as he whisked you thru the streets of town
with the wind in your hair and a laugh on your tongue

no doubt he fantasized as you both rode
about how he wished you would straddle his
fat waist like you straddled that wide seat
riding him and laughing and whipping your hair
like the winds against his hairy chest,
tracing his tattoos with your slender fingers

but you are quite the ingénue
and your youth endows you the spontaneity
to just hop on the back of some strange mechanic’s
Harley while his slack-jawed lackeys who
rotate your tires look on in envy
wishing they had a Harley, too

and perhaps i felt threatened because,
while that same mechanic gleefully surfs
the crest of his midlife crisis,
i drive an SUV with a baby seat strapped in the back
i can see the tide of my own midlife crisis
start to roll in to drag me out to sea