Bad Boys

It's been many years since

I would knock on the door

of your lone trailer.

 

You would brew me tea,

turn on the soaps,

and make me swear

I wouldn't tell anyone

that you always cried when

watching “As the World Turns,”

while I curled on the plaid sofa

studying for my next college exam.

 

You the macho man

shuffling one woman

out the back entrance

to let another one in the front.

Who would have believed

I was just your confidant.

 

It would surprise me in this

rapidly approaching

winter of our lives

to learn you are still alive

my old friend.

 

You lived so on the edge,

your sky blue eyes

dancing with danger,

always a new bag of tricks

up your sleeve,

laughing gleefully

when I caught you

in your game.

 

And when I think of you

in this new full harvest moon,

I will fondly recall

my arms tightly wrapped

around your warm belly,

riding the tail end of your motorcycle,

your prickly curly blonde ponytail

tickling my nose,

my patched worked jeans

hooked behind yours,

the two of us just blowin down

the summer speckled highway.