The Charge of the Match for Light Infantry
Biker said:
. Combine this new [.50 BMG] weapon with our 12 Gauge handlebars and the plethora of hidden edged weapons we carry and we're a match for any Light Infantry unit.
Biker
Light
Infantry or Light
Brigade, Biker?
Half a marker, half a marker,
Half a mile-marker onward,
All down the interstate
Rode the 1% six hundred.
"Forward, match for Light Infantry!"
"Charge for the radar guns!" he said:
Into the valley of Points
Rolled the 1% six hundred.
"Forward, match for Light Infantry!"
Was there a rider dismay'd?
Not tho' the Biker knew
Someone had blundr'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs but to be pulled over falsely:
Into the valley of Points
Rode the 1% six hundred.
Lidar to the right of them
Radar to the left of them,
Tickmarks before them and stopwatch'd helicopters above them,
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with microwaves and light beams,
Boldly they rode their machines,
Into the jaws of Points
Into the mouth of made-up Tickets
Rode the 1% six hundred
Flash'd all their shot-shell'd bars,
Flash'd as they'd passed the Sheriff's cars,
Peppering the deputies there,
Charging a Department, while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the dust and smoke,
Right thro' the line they broke;
Sheriff and Trooper
Reel'd from the shot-shell stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd
Then they strode back but not
Not the 1% six hundred.
Lidar to the right of them
Radar to the left of them,
Tickmarks before them and stopwatch'd helicopters above them,
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with microwave and light beam,
While bike and rider fell,
They that had rode so well,
Came thro' the jaws of Points
Back from the mouth of made-up Tickets,
Rode all that was left of them,
Left of the 1% six hundred.
Who can their glory place?
O the wild charges they face!
All the world wondered.
O, they rode wild and free,
A match for Light Infantry,
Noble 1% six hundred.
...With apologies to Lord Tennyson, but not very many; and graver aplogies to the teachers who more or less forcibly showed me Poetry and Literature. It's all their fault. Really it is. And I'm sorry I wasn't able to fit in the .50 BMG rifles, jeans-seam fishooks, gascap knives or any snippy comments about manners or hygiene. I promise to do better next time. Or not. Yeah, mostly not, I think.
--Herself