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?”