Editor’s Note: One of those “future news” stories floated by in the stream yesterday that made us shake our heads. Apparently the Harley-Davidson Management has released a press note indicating they are going to go “all electric” to power their magnificent fossil-fueled two-wheeled rockets. We are with Marlow on the Fatboy of yesterday, powered the way they were! Oh, in light of the news about classified documents scattered across the nation’s capital region, Marlow has thoughtfully included unclassified reminders at the head and foot of this unclassified (but sensitive) verse.

-Vic

May 2001

Farewell

My Old Town Alexandria, South Lee Street neighbors, settled and successful professionals and business owners, looked at my trip as an admixture of mild midlife crisis and mega-stupidity.

Save one or two, none had traveled as extensively, foreign or domestic, let alone deployed to the weird, wooly and wild places associated with the US military. It came as a surprise to me and Steve to be fête’d the night before our departure with an impromptu front stoop wine party.  One across-the-street ponytailed neighbor, CB,  honored us with penning and reciting the following:

In the hours past midnight, the moon at my back . . .
I was searching for what rhymes with Jack Kerouac
Some pithy subjunctive supporting tales to be told
By Marlow on his return from being “On the Road.”

Or perhaps an elliptical adverbial construction
That links to something about his Harley Davidson.
We need a song, an ode quite specific
For our South Lee Street rider off to find the Pacific.

This moment needs couplets on the fame he’ll enjoy
Tooling around Tulsa on his sleek red “Fatboy”  . . .
His tour of the heartland, the rich earth beneath,
The blue sky above . . . the bugs in his teeth . . .

As spring turns to summer and allergies flare
We’ll think of our Marlow, motorcycling out there
Where vistas are grand, and sunsets are fine
And the wine tastes like slightly used turpentine.

Ah, the romance of riding throughout the day
The nights filled with ADVIL and tubes of BEN-GAY.
The tales of landmarks and vistas so nice
The aches and the pains and the bags filled with ice.

We envy his freedom of riding throughout the day
We’ll have to make do with Sutton Place Gourmet
Where we’ll think of him wherever he may roam
Till we raise a glass and welcome him home

Farewell stoop wine party of the South Lee Street Irregulars

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