They call her Big Momma

Big Mamma shows her tat!

She had a red rocket
between her legs spewing
sparks and fire and smoke.
She wore tight leather pants
that contained her bulging
cheeks and hips and thighs.
Her breasts pressed into
his back holding on with nipples
hard and large and plastic.
A motorcycle momma living
the moment riding high
buzzed and boozed and aging.
When the rocket ran out of gas
she slide off her perch
grimy and sagging and tired.
You know they all had her,
satisfied that she could ride a
rocket and chopper and big hog.
She doesn’t wear leather now
her muffin top hangs out
stretch marked and white and fat.
They still come around calling her
Big Momma but there is no ride only
longing for sparks and cheeks and booze.

Copyright: 2010, Donald Harbour

That drop of sweat

There is a small tear drop of sweat,
tracing a course from just behind your right ear,
over your neck’s pulsating patch of skin,
down the swell of your gentle, breathing chest,
disappearing in the valley between your breasts.
I am so envious of that drop…of…sweat.

Copyright: 2009, Donald Harbour