Now If I Were Burt Reynolds*

by Fred Byrnes

SHE was telling me
about her aunt's boyfriend,
actually she was telling me
about her aunt's boyfriend's roommate.
''He has a motorcycle.
He asked me to go
for a ride with him?
That's all I want to do,
is just go for a ride.
I don't know what he wants.''
I stared at the July-green landscape
through the car window
She kept driving.
I kept silent.
She's twenty-eight.
I was hoping
she was putting me on.
I should have slid
across the seat
and placed my hand
between her legs,
grabbed that old tomato
and told her:
''Men have committed suicide
for this, but not me baby.
You want to ride motorcycles
go right ahead.
If that guy isn't blind,
then you know what he wants.''

We stopped for breakfast
and by then the day
was starting to get hot.

*Honorable mention, asinine poetry literary contest, fall 2001

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