An Ode to Ho Phuc

 Ho Phuc, I love all 168 of your raw horse powers. Even though you were always destined for a teen tryst, you took me as I was- a relatively huge weight that wears down your brakes at an unnatural speed. All those old security guards that laugh and point at us as we cruise off into the sunset only makes us stronger-because as you tell me every day-when I’m with you I’m living the “style of model life.” I love that when we are almost running into those pretty Vespas or those powerful Ducati’s I can scream your name so loud and so fast it sounds just like “OH ****”! I’m sorry I wasn’t able to hide my shock over finding out you were a Japanese imposter-a bastard. I was genuinely confused when the Kawasaki mechanic kept pointing and repeating: “No Kawasaki, Vietnam and China” over and over. I try to make sure you’re not around when I tell Libby, “we have a damn Chinese bike.” But hey, if you look like a Japanese bike, and you sound like a Japanese bike, can’t we just say you’re a Japanese bike. Keep being good to me plz