Across a little valley from the house
runs the winding mountain highway,
a blacktop siren song for engine jockeys.
The crotch-rocket corners with a growl,
accelerates into the straight with a rising
whine and dopplers past -
too fast -
I know the road,
I know the adrenalized state of mind
inside the helmet.
“Go carefully!” I telepath,
“Don’t you know -
you are precious in this world?”