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)