Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Glory Days

He’s just an old scooter tramp living here all alone.
In a run down little place only he calls home.
Never thought that he’d live this long because he lived it hard and fast
Riding from place to place never looking back.
He was that bad ass biker it was all he’d ever wanted to be.
Zig-zagging the country running wild and free.
He broke a few hearts and lots of bones along the way
Rolling through life kicking ass and taking names.
Now he’s surrounded by his yesterdays his old patch hangs there on the wall.
It hadn’t been an easy life but man he’s had a ball.
He’s tired and a little sad now just plain worn down to the bone.
He gets a call now and then: “Ya, its great here man.” He lies into the phone.
His neighbors watch him suspiciously no one trusts his kind.
Yet in his odd twisted way it flatters him, he really doesn’t mind.
He revisits his favorite memories each day through his tattoos and battle scares.
Remembering the all the good times, the fast women and all them smoky bars.
Every time he hears loud pipes the memories come flooding in.
On days like this when the loneliness chokes hard knowing this is far worse than prison.
His Brothers faces smile back at him from the pictures hung there on the wall.
They said he was just too old forcing him to retire two years ago last fall.
Those he was the tightest with too many are long dead the rest are in the pen.
These young punks, they know nothing about how it was back then.
Emphasizing even more that his glory days are all behind him
Understanding more clearly why the future looks so damn grim.
He limps out to visit his old Shovelhead dusting her off as he’s done a thousand times
“You’ve been a good ride” He says “Old girl I’m glad that you were mine”.
He climbs on and the memories rush in remembering the raw power beneath him
He shakes his snowy head slowly coming to terms that his time is wearing thin.
“Each day is like the day before.” He says and “Girl you can’t fence time.”
My life was full of laughter now it’s just one long lonely grind.
After the wild life he had lived everything else pales in comparison
So sitting there on his old bike for the last time;
He fires the gun.

Good-bye old friend
Six Shooter Sally