No fool would argue with a bus,
I heard his noisy pipes,
--- lights out.
His Harley met its end that day,
The bones cut through the sleeve,
He felt not the burn on his right knee, The bike was red and I was wearing a camouflage battle-dress uniform. Note my straight pipes.
GotoPage 3
THE BUS DRIVER
Sitting at the red light again,
I wonder if it's fixed,
More than a week they've tried in vain,
Wait, it's turning green, yet it stays red,
I'm big enough, I'll go ahead.
To insist upon a right of way,
Yet on my left,
A flash of red and camo,
Comes straight at me and -WHAMMO!
But not in time to see him,
I cut him off without a shout,THE SCENE
Crimson was the tank and fenders,
Crimson too the blood from mouth and arm,
Our soldier lay beside the bus, his bike asunder,
Well on his way to M.I.T. had met with dire harm.
His Army life was finished,
His pregnant wife for him would pray,
His fighting skills diminished.
The helmet no longer in one piece,
His uniform was bloody,
And he had missing teeth.
Nor the severed nerve down to his toes,
A coma state spared him this scene,
Made him not conscious of his woes.
Get your own Free Home Page