Best Peoplefriend Poems
I ride the bike even when it's a little cold
I am now biker trash so I am told
What has changed I just can't see
Has parking my truck really made a change in me
Or is the fact that I like to ride
And that my friend I'll never hide
From the ones that can't understand
How that throttle feels in my hand
Yet it's still the same man as before
That now you have some need to ignore
Last week when you were broke
I didn't laugh or at you poke
Instead I held out my hand
Helping you as much as I can
When you once had no food to eat
Who put that sack of groceries at your feet
The that time your kids got really sick
My phone seemed to ring awfully quick
At those times you were not afraid
And a friend I thought I had made
But now my face you can only slap
Because I have a leather jacket and some chaps
Go ahead and judge me if you must
And I really don't need your trust
I have shown what I can and will do
In your time of need I was there for you
Now that you've seen me ride
Have I some how hurt your pride?
Now your friendship may be missed
But don't dial my number I must insist
Because in my truck or on my bike
I am still the man that for 5 years you did like
Maybe the stories are really true
Everyone is trash unless they live like you!
An Uncle Charlie Original
I live in a little town where the
average age is pushing sixty
or has pushed past
and we haven't gotten the word yet
from the officials.
This morning, at a self-imposed,
post-christmas,
celebration,
over a big steak,
medium-well,
“no blood, please”.
I read the papers and overheard:
“I can't breathe through my nose!”
The breakfast conversation then segued
to a mutual friend that had to have
his jaw bone scraped
because his screw-in tooth
didn't take
after the implant.
The four,
bent over their eggs and noodles,
pondered how much
air should put in the Posturepedic
for a good night's sleep,
and the realization that they
had ordered
stir fry
for breakfast.
Oh my gawd.
The littlest and frailest lady remarked
how she had missed a question on the
driver's test because she hadn't noticed
the tiny hand sticking out the window
in the illustration
indicating a right turn.
This same woman drives
a three ton SUV through town, with a
pet Llapso under her chin
as she maneuvers through mid-day traffic
with a double latte in her hand.
Yesterday, I ate my soup while listening to
some geezer describe his eye surgery and the
more graphic story about his friend that
had his eye removed from the socket
while they scraped
the cancer out of the void.
I dreamed of the days that
people kept their intimate conversation
to themselves, and excused themselves
if they belched or made wind
fiercely enough to make
the silverware on my table rattle.
I scraped some more lean
meat from the bone
and finished my meal.