Good Intentions, Honest!

By Max

A lazy Sunday morning
a respite from early rise
and by noon I had arisen
Broke my fast with two meat pies
And I swear 'twas my intention
just to tinker with my ride
to check the oil and wash her
not to hit the countryside
But the day it held a promise
with high sirus on blue skies
And a winters chill, the sort of day
a biker loves to fly.
So I tried on my old jacket
just to check the thing still fit
And I took her to the garage
just to fill her up a bit
I checked the tyres and filled her up
I figured I just might
run her for a moment
to ensure the nuts were tight
so I headed to the highway
got her up to cruising speed
and I gently tried the brakes out
checking if they need a bleed
But I must admit she ran OK
She really purred and roared
and we wove between the cages
and on open highways soared.
In stretches long the engine song
tore deep as we surged hard
And I lived the day in triumph
countryside and nods from Bros
ensured the day wern't marred
I ran her till her tank was dry
Then turned and headed back
And filled her at a country store
far off the beaten track
By the time we reached my pad again
the light was growing dim
and I caught the smell of dinner
that was wafting from within
And my lady asked how things had gone
If my machine was fine
I sheepish say that all was well
(and man I wasn't lyin'.)