I had a girlfriend who dumped me for a better job—
Which, frankly, made me laugh so hard I started to sob.
I’d been so disgustingly highfalutin—so grand!—ballooning on hot air
Above green pincushion fields with trees stuck in down there,
Snootily floating above and looking down,
My drinker’s red nose tilted up arrogantly, red-nosed circus clown
Floating above life’s road-rage-in-a-maze.
Ah, those were lovely Ducati years and Ducati days!
I rode my racers and felt superior.
Nothing could catch me—nothing inside me—just an exterior.
Almost all Ducati motorcycles in those fine days were red.
We Ducatisti rode red-hot Italian beauties on the track and in bed.
I squeeze into my old red race-team jacket to remember.
Rosso di competizione…but it’s freezing December
Out on the street as I walk off last night’s alcohol, ballooned in bulging down.
I’m the Michelin Man-Made-of-Tires, a clown
In down, tethered unsteadily to the ground,
With not too many more laps left to wobble around.
Skewered me like a kebab.
Left me for a better job.
