Uneasy Rider by Diane Wakoski

Uneasy Rider

 

Falling in love with a mustache

is like saying

you can fall in love with

the way a man polishes his shoes

                which,

                of course,

                is one of the things that turns on

                my tuned-up engine

 

                those trim buckled boots

 

                (I feel like an advertisement

                for men’s fashions

                when I think of your ankles)

 

Yeats was hung up with a girl’s beautiful face

 

and I find myself

 

a bad moralist,

 

a failing aesthetician,

 

a sad poet,

 

wanting to touch your arms and feel the muscles

that make a man’s body have so much substance,

that makes a woman

lean and yearn in that direction

that makes her melt/ she is a rainy day

in your presence

the pool of wax under a burning candle

the foam from a waterfall

 

You are more beautiful than any Harley-Davidson

She is the rain,

waits in it for you,

finds blood spotting her legs

from the long ride.