Ballad of Bernie in Arizona

So I've written the first real adventure ballad of my poetry career and... in part it was fun, but it was also hard to keep my focus too. This is a 2nd draft (not much better than a first), and the meter still isn't perfect. It sounds best if you reach each stanza with a metronome - 4 beats for the first line , 3 beats for the 2nd, 4 beats for the 3rd, 3 beats for the 4th. But some of those are stretches. Anyway, hope you enjoy the ballad, especially 'cause a major purpose of this is to be enjoyable to read.

Ballad of Bernie in Arizona

Too early for traffic and perfect for speed,

he breathed in the day with a grin.

He gathered a group in the desolate waste

to take his scooter for a spin.

Soon Bernie was oblivious;

he burned his black bike’s gas.

Lead foot to the floor, past an empty stretch,

he roared up a mountain pass.

Behind, his biker gang rode on,

quick, yet reserved at the bends.

But Bernie, undaunted by the sheer cliff curves,

he ditched his group of friends.

One-hundred miles he had to go;

he didn’ wanna pull no stops,

so he whipped the corners with expert ease

and never noticed the cops.

Hidden in crags with crooked smiles,

the popo wanted to play,

but Bernie was oblivious

and simple sped away.

The scouts were called to keep in sight

this savage biker man,

but he covered each mile in twenty seconds flat;

they needed more of a plan.

When he whizzed into a many mile tunnel,

they thought they had him then,

but Bernie saw no danger in fun

and revved to two-hundred and ten.

The watchman missed him when he blinked an eye;

the radar swept like a clock.

But Bernie was oblivious

and flew out of view like a hawk.

Who was this gale-force freak of nature

tearing through the trail?

The cops were used to playing catch

and couldn’t bare to fail.

Helicopters took off to scan on high;

a jet plane was called upon.

All this for Bernie, oblivious

to what was going on.

All this for one man; all this for their pride;

they’d snare him no matter the cost.

But the mountains, strewn with turn-offs and twists

left the police feeling lost.

Cop cars, ‘copters, and planes scrambled ‘round

searching for some blur to chase,

but the motorbike man was nowhere in sight;

they hadn’t once seen his face.

They assembled for one final barricade,

no hope it would work out as planned.

And meanwhile Bernie, oblivious,

was jamming out to a band.

Riding headphones on and having a blast,

poor Bernie missed his road.

Set on turning ‘round, he topped one last hill

where his vehicle finally slowed:

for there was the roadblock, wide as the sky

and curious to his windswept eyes.

Bernie pulled up, oblivious,

and said “Hey! What’s up guys?”

Some wept, some laughed, some readied their guns

to answer as cops should

and Bernie spun ‘round like a hurricane

‘cause he finally understood.