Her name was Martha
but they called her Midge,
even as she grew
to tower
over other kids,
and sport
adult-sized shoes.

She practiced karate,
and propelled
a mean soccer ball.

Classmates said
Don’t mess with Midge.

She was good at math,
not so good at French,
hated home ec, pulled
B’s and C’s, didn’t
date or get invited
to the prom,
yearned to be
accepted,
didn’t know what
she wanted
to be.

One day Midge met
a tall, tattooed, rough
biker named Rick,
a hunk with a jagged
scar covering the left
half of his face.

He leered, she stared.
He commanded Get on!
She dared and did.

In short time she dressed
in studded leather, rode
her own monster H-D®,
burned up the road.

Rick trailed      far        far        behind.

Friends say Rick ain’t the man he used to be.