Harley Haiku - Baltimore Post-ExaminerBaltimore Post-Examiner

Harley Haiku

[Note: I once worked as a technical writer at Harley-Davidson™ at the headquarters on Juneau Avenue inMilwaukee, Wis., which inspired the following haiku.]

 

What is this “V-Rod?”
Blasphemous metric nuts, bolts
And Porche™ was involved!?

——

Service Group fields calls
Inside joke: “They all do that!”
Customer complaints

——

Bulging steel glory
Overheats in slow parades
Give me open road

——

Most of your oil
Appears outside the engine
It’s a Knucklehead

——

Doll-up your new bike
Harley catalog: Toy store
Motorcycle bling

——

Mommy, what is that?
An animal on two wheels
Never bring one home

——

Hair sprouting from ears
Bits of meat stuck in my ‘stache
Middle-aged biker

——

Indian™ revived
Harley sales roaring along
Indian collapsed

——

Massive Ultra Glide
Meticulously clean it
For your huge woman

——

Bike says, “Potato”
Clutch engaged, twist the throttle
Clutch, shift, rinse, repeat

——

How do I love thee?
Let me count the interstates
Harley Springer love

——

Your dog looks so cute
Sitting on your bike like that
Oh, that’s your girlfriend?

——

From prototype parts
Were born weird biker sculptures
Charity auction

——

Your greasy girlfriend
Her mouth looks like a headlight
Oh, wait; that’s your bike

——

This ostrich-skin seat
And these swell, heated handgrips
Sissify my ride

——

The bugs in your beard
An entomologist’s dream
Long-distance biker

——

Hair smells like a mop
You’re soaked in, out, up, and down
Riding in a storm

——

Knocked your bike over
But that won’t happen again
You removed my limbs

——

’41 Flathead
Designed in an asylum?
Kick-start may launch you

——

Bugs in your armpits
And the way your knuckles drag
You ride “ape hangers?”

——

World War II Aces
Took to their Harleys post-war
Flying on the ground

——

These imitations
So many Harley knock-offs
It’s all flattery

——

From finite models
Infinite variations
It’s Sturgis again

——

Heavy leather boots
Hairy, smelly, unshaven
And that’s just your girl

——

My eight fingernails
They look like thick, black hyphens
Fixing my chopper

——

What’s that in your teeth?
Looks like a big, hairy cat
Keep your speed down, bro

——

This long, flat, straight road
It goes on forever, man
Must be Nebraska

——

You’re not a dirt-bag
Hey, I was only kidding
Now my legs are broke

——

That guy over there
Said your Harley looks like crap
Revenge on my ex

——

I thought you were white
You look like an African
Fix that oil leak

——

Throttle wide open
Engine plays a Wagner hymn
Long, low, soulful notes

——

These loud pipes save lives
And drown out annoying bass
From those hip-hop cars

(Mike Borfitz with his 1946 Harley-Davidson Knucklehead: Photo courtesy from Mike Borfitz)


About the author

Mark Forseth

Mark Forseth is a regulatory technical writer with the Federal Aviation Administration in Seattle, Wash. His career has centered on public-broadcast journalism and technical writing for such industries as GE Medical; ABB Robotics; Harley-Davidson Motorcycles; Allen-Bradley Motion Controls; Johnson Controls; and Imago Scientific instruments, among others. Contact the author.
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