Las Vegas Tales IV

Jennifer Faulle: The Young Woman’s Tale
Legend of Dusty the Racer

by Mark Kodama


Wheresoever you go, go with all your heart.

Confucius


Elbows to the ground. Feel the vibration.
I was the rookie racing sensation
My motorbike flies into the turn.
Smell the rubber burn.
The winner’s circle is my destination.
Hear my engine roar; feel the acceleration.
Touch my heart’s palpitation.
I go into my turn,
Elbows to the ground.
See my motorbike’s disintegration.
My dream’s conflagration.
Hear my bones break; see my skin burn.
But I will return.
Know my determination.
I’ll be back. Elbows to the ground.

Bus Driver

Miss Faullé, through no fault of your own,
Your beauty cuts to the bone.
You are every man’s fondest dream,
His repressed fantasy –
And worst nightmare.
Excuse me, if men stop and stare.
You have looks that kill
And a walk that thrills.
When you enter into a room,
Heads turn and grown men swoon.
You are the most beautiful trap,
I’ve ever seen for a start.
You put a spring in a man’s step
And murder in his heart.

The Poet

Every rose has its thorns
But no flower is more beautiful.
Every true love sworn,
Has a single soul.
Limits of my love is yet unborn,

On my heart is its emboss.
So crown my head with your thorns
And let me bear your cross.

Bus Driver

One day my mother bought a cockatiel,
Oh, such immense pride did my brother feel,
He purchased a brass cage that very day
Clipped its wings so the bird could not fly away,
Every day he changed the paper in the cage,
He obtained bird seed by his own wage.
But my brother Matt the bird chose to ignore,
For it was my sister it did adore.

My sister would take the bird on walks,
And they would have frequent talks.
The more the two friends would engage,
The more my brother became enraged.
One day my sister took the bird for a stroll.
She freed it from its string leash I am told.
To her amusement, the bird began to run,
When he took flight, it was no longer fun.
When my brother learned it escaped, he screamed,
The bird was gone so it did seem.

Years later, I met a boy who lived blocks away.
In his room, our cockatiel lived in a cage.
I did not say the bird belonged to my brother.
For now I could see it belonged to another.
Love is like a bird. You must set it free.
If she stays by choice, a good wife she will be.


Liked this poem? Missed the first one? Don’t worry, read the first poem in this mini series here. Follow the blog, or our Facebook to be notified when new articles are placed on the website! Happy reading.

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