The Harley was midnight polished chrome,
three years of saving — a gift to myself
in the spring of seventeen.
I donned leathers as my birthday broke,
left the house that was not home
and rode out into morning. Rode
until I landed, beneath the steely gaze
of a drill sergeant who forged men
from boys of seventeen.
He shaved away my dreadlocks,
found a fractured soul beneath,
broke it down
then built it up,
First published by Silver Birch Press, February 2017