Blats booted to blatant <br />dubbing the avenue dire <br />with rubbings of Sveinn Forkbeard <br />leading a black squall of Harleys <br />with Moe Snow-Whitebeard and <br /> <br />Possum Brushbeard and their ladies <br />and, sphincter-lipped, gunning, <br />massed in leather muscle on a run, <br />on a roll, Santas from Hell <br />like a whole shoal leaning <br /> <br />wide wristed, their tautness stable <br />in fluency, fast streetscape dwindling, <br />all riding astride, on the outside <br />of sleek grunt vehicles, woman-clung, <br />forty years on from Marlon.<br /><br />Les Murray<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-harleys/
