1966:


    Red, fierce, sharp,


    meant to quench a lust for


    motion unimpeded


    out on the


    open road.


    Her front light


    just on the left half


    folds into the engine


    and her wheel through the seat.


    1988:


    Beat up,


    a gross, tan shade


    that looks less like paint and


    more the aftermath of


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.many drunken nights


    behind him.


    Moved on to better things.


    Something farther from


    the amber glasses


    and the stench that


    kept him from counting.


    1956:


    A classic,


    something obviously


    handed down.


    On the front mirror hangs


    a pair of unremarkable dice


    barely scathed by the


    single point of impact


    through the front window.


    Red specs and


    small, palm-sized


    dents


    leave marks on the door


    that spoke of heres and thens


    no more.


    1929:


    Nobody remembers


    when she took the throne


    perched above the rest


    not unlike a vulture


    eyeing a feast.


    Their frames packed


    loads more than she


    in her prime.


    Yet,


    all the same,


    they turn up here.


    Better each


    passing year,


    yet all the same,


    they wound up


    here