A trifle about triking

You are old, Mr Brian, young Veronica said
And you move with the aid of a trike
But on its sleek frontage, so shiny and red
Do you need such a hideous spike?

Why  speak of the spike? Old Brian replied
While you chatter, my great task is slowing!
I am fixing gold chains to the back and the side
of this black leather jacket I'm sewing.

Ah, said Veronica, you'll make an impression
as along the main drag you will glide
demonstrating what masterly English expression
to your leathers you've neatly applied.
 
Yes, said Old Brian, the logo's complete;
no chains will you find in bad tangles!
Passers by will all tremble out there on the street
When they see how it spells out Hell's Angles!

Are you sure, asked Veronica, hiding a sneer,
that your outfit is fully perfected?
I think that you'll find, when it's scanned from the  rear,
there's a problem you haven't detected!

It's complete! cried old Brian. My fingers may tingle,  
but with pride my old bosom is swelling;
gilded buttons all glint, glowing chains are a-jingle
and I know I'm correct in my spelling.

But consider, Old Brian, the young woman said,
I know you're a man of persistence
and will still blunder on blindly ahead,
But there's not such a group in existence! 

Bedamn, Old Brian loudly declaimed:
a litter of bodies henceforth will be found!
That spike I will use on the halt, blind or maimed,
On old ladies or children or hound!

In your youth, said the girl, as you charged down the road
You seemed never to suffer from cold
but the cats and their kittens will make hats and mittens
to relieve you from chill now you're old.

But to kill off those pussies,  Old Brian demurred,
smacks of more than a bit of pornography;
I'm quite fond of those sweet things so warmly befurred:
so I will just destroy folks ... and orthography.