h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

My scooter it don't run so good
On the muddy ground down by the wood
And it don't move so grand
When plowing through sand
But on pavement it goes like it should

The yogabike runs like a top
Through the curves past a fifteen foot drop
Cruising along
Singing a song
With no pressing reason to stop

A long stretch of highway ahead
Forty miles away from my bed
It's cooling off some
And my coat's safe at home
And I'm sure my wife's waiting there mad

A thread full of limericks is nice
Much better than riding on ice
If you find you are tired
On coffee get wired
Stand up and spin around thrice

My sportster is dirty and red
A sweaty dew rag on my head
Glasses and leather
Cool autumn weather
And a coffee shop four miles ahead

The yogabike looks kind of wierd
Sometimes the children get scared
When it flexes and bends
And on it's head stands
Is when it's particularly feared

Another one's coming, I feel
A poem of riding two wheel
In the beautiful summer
When nothing's a bummer
If your cruising on rubber and steel



YB

Rain stopped, it's starting to sun
Time to make a short run
Into town for a hour
Three laps 'round the tower
And head back to where I'd begun



YB

The skulls on the fairing are scary
The flames on the tank,extrodanary
Daggers and dice
Machine guns and vice
I love your bikes paint job Aunt Mary

A poet alone on a thread
Motorbike poems unread
I'll go for a ride
And then maybe decide
To put this unread thread to bed

Feels like time for a ride
The tires, however, are fried
The exhaust comes out black
The gas tank has acrack
But it's time so I'll not be denied

Off on a ride with my wife
Away from the trouble and strife
The wind in our faces
We wouldn't trade places
With anyone, this is the life

Summer is fading away
Here in good old USA
But fall is soon comimg
And the scooter keeps running
'Till the snow makes me put it away

The Yogabike's quick off the line
It takes hills and tight turns just fine
It's a sight to behold
A bit gaudy I'm told
But never the less, it's all mine

The last of the gangs pulling in
Looking tired and ragged as sin
His grin of relief
Shows the bugs on his teeth
As he shuts down his shining v-twin

Two weeks since last came the bard
In from the road and the yard
Poems of biking
Are well to his liking
But coming inside can be hard

The biker woke rubbing his eyes
He ached in his back, neck, and thighs
Upon reconsider
Maybe it would be better
To pick on a guy his own size

While biking and doing some yoga
He felt a hard tug on his toga
He went head over heels
And seat over wheels
And his tire's now wearing his toga

In the shop with it's wheels in the air
Disassembled it looks pretty bare
Parts strewn about
A biker without
The device that could end his despair