A date with my motorbike is better than with any man

DATE NIGHT

I wheel the black Hayabusa from the garage.

The word ‘Hayabusa’ is more motorbike

Than a Japanese falcon that feeds on blackbirds,

When Honda’s Blackbird was fast on two wheels with an engine.

In a car park, my learner plates still flapping from my 125,

I saw its muscle mass for the first time and was mesmerised.

Speechless, in love at last, I wanted mine.

I passed my test for it; I worked out with weights

So its many kilos wouldn’t topple me; I lost poundage

To better fit my leathers so my chest wouldn’t rest on the petrol tank.

I wore mascara and lipstick to dress myself up for it,

And before committing to a permanent partnership

I learned to ride sports bikes on track, until at last I felt ready.

My soon-to-be-ex, angered by my defection,

Complained that the motorbike would be in the bedroom

If I ever found the means to get it there, and he was right.

That motorbike was better company, less critical, more responsive,

And faster round the Nurburgring in Germany.

This evening it’s just the two of us and an open road;

Date night.