Meeting Toughie
I have no idea, she told me. Better ask Toughie, he will know.
I have never been to a motorcycle rally, there is an excitement glow.
Another guy said the same thing. Better find Toughie, he’s on a bike.
The whole place seemed to know him, but what did he look like?
I figured Toughie was big, wild looking, with at least one tattoo.
I would ask six or eight people about him before I was through.
I hear you are looking for me, a voice yipped from the crowd.
It was a tiny dog, but his voice was extremely proud and loud.
No, I am looking for Toughie, I told him, in a persnickety way.
A bunch of other bikers began laughing; they were merry and gay.
That is Toughie; see his helmet? A club member said to me.
AMA, ask me anything; he is the smartest one you’ll ever see.
I thought AMA was American Motorcycle Association, I said.
They laughed at my idiocy, I’ll remember this until I am dead.
You aren’t from around here, Toughie guessed, going easy on me.
He had all the answers, and was as kind as could be.
Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2022
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment