Rasping the Clear

Aging biker rasping the clear

Drawing attention to ease the pain

Tolerated now - the end is near

A dying warrior lost in fear.

A face like rough-hewn rock

An expert chisel reduced to stock

All the marks of a street dogs mind

Worn like trophies to wars unkind.

Friends of old obliged to care

Pay their dues with funeral flair

Tells him that he looks, real good!

Pathetic gestures like gas on wood.

Owner comes by, a heyday friend

Talk trash about the past

Of jail time spent, of Harleys and bitches and glories gone

Doesn't want him loud and strong.

Finally, warns him to lower his voice

The customers might hear

Said he didn’t mean to offend

The curses just flow like rivers of wind.

Bartender declares "someone keeps calling to complain

That we are serving a man with cirrhosis

If it doesn’t stop she threatens to come and make a scene”

The biker denied the name revealed.

But soon, couldn’t contain his anger

Said that she’d caused him refused before

When he got home he’d smack her around

Teach her sense, beat her sound.

Roared off into the night

Six-pack secure on his steed of steel

Rasping the quiet for his demons to disappear

A warrior once more too loud to hear.