The Motorcyclist

It happened last Monday near Cafe Shelly,
I was having a coffee filling my cold belly,
When a motorcyclist with a big Yamaha wheels,
Stopped by, got off on his boots with high heels,
He was in his late 60’s that was very clear to me,
My generation for sure anyone could clearly see,
He told me they are a large group of pensioners,
That go on long tours, they are the first, the pioneers,
Although they are known as the “often stopping band”,
Because they often stop on account of their prostate gland,

Extra Pounds Anyone?

As I was walking past the fast food shop,
Where eating and slurping goes on non-stop,
I could not help hearing the mighty sounds,
Of all these people putting on the extra pounds,
The eight hundred calories burgers with a drink,
Made with twenty percent sugar and it isn’t milk,
Thus grows the North American belly by the day,
Then on to the biggest looser to peel the pounds away,