Ruth Martz Poet Rhyme

Grief

Only seventeen 
on a hot Harley Machine.

Didn’t have to wear 
a helmet 
you could feel the air 
streaming
through your hair.

Riding down the rainy road 
behind a loaded semi 
going to Ft. Collins
for the day.

Suddenly a back splash
hit them in the face
they weren’t trying to race
just trying to pass the truck.

Two seconds later
the bike was wrecked
and my girlfriend 
laid dead on the rainy road.

Only seventeen 
on a hot Harley machine
she never had a chance
to be a mother or a wife
two days before we graduated 
from high school.




(In remembrance of Bonnie Hockett, Class of ‘67 -Cheyenne, Wyoming)

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