the smell of gas
a wild wish
inexperienced rider
flops like a fish

he will be bruised
battered
heckled
scarred
he will see the ups and downs of plywood ramps
and piled high dirt yards

and when his blood has dried a thousand times
and the dirt flaked off his fifteenth fractured helmet
he will, in hard earned wisdom, command cool stunts
and collect the claps of an impressed audience
in his ego's vest pocket

the mechanic crossed his arms
and kicked a notch in the soil
he was stumped by the puddle of oil

the dirt bike sputtered
and the mechanic muttered
an epitaph to the dying yamaha:

she was a sweet bike
did some fine stunts
and though rocks dinged her up
and rust crept into her core
she gunned like a roar
she gunned like a roar


and the dead yamaha
twisted and shriveled
choked with vines of rust
clanged into the scrap pile
and returned to dust

a bumbling rumbling

like a sleeping god's mumblings

creeps into the arizona void

a humbling gunning

as the motor starts running

pervades the arizona void

a slinking sunrise

strikes the rider's red eyes

as he attacks the arizona void

a stunt grunts

in the loosely laid ruts

of the dirt of the arizona void