by Peter D
Its bricks and mortar are fuel and space.
Like the Tower of Babel, the newest Harley reaches high into the clouds.
Serpents abound.
Printed leathers and wondrous wheels.
Man tasted knowledge for the first time in the snake-infested Eden,
He ignored God’s word for the second time before the Flood,
He reached for the clouds a third time with his Tower,
Man reaches further still with every new Harley.
It’s has been around for ages now.
A not uncommon sight on the streets of Alberta.
The orange and black have faded.
How small and simple they look next to this one:
The newest and most self-aggrandizing yet.
It’s immense in every sense.
Its hypnotic V8 purrs relentlessly.
Its fanged flanks look ready to eat an Elantra.
Its whizzing running boards loft the driver one step closer to the clouds.
One step closer to the top of the Tower.
They also get jammed with snow.
It’s natural.
Just as the Empire State Building was surpassed by the Sears Tower,
So will the Burj Khalifa be passed.
Man seeks great heights.
He seeks to surpass his peers
And himself.
This Harley is taller.
It reaches higher.
Fuel prices rise.
Population and density commensurately.
The bricks and mortar are crumbling.
The Harley keeps reaching.