Hey Bobby

Hey Bobby, you’re overdressed.
Suit, tie, jacket, and a carnation;
I almost didn’t recognize you
without your leather.

Do you feel out of place?

I see you’re packed and ready to go;
leather jacket, ratty cut-off, and your cap,
all folded neatly on the side.

Beer, Jack Daniel’s and cigarettes
right next to you, pictures of your wife,
your kids and your bike,
all the things you liked, loved and lived for
crammed inside a box.

Are you going to miss them?

Hey, Bobby, it’s a going away party.
The guys are giving you a toast, wishing
you a safe ride . . .
while, the girls sit crying with your family.
They miss you already; but you remain silent.
I thought you liked parties.

How does it feel to be the guest of honor?

Well I have to say good-bye now;
I wish you could stay longer.
It won’t be the same without you;
but you chose to live hard
and die fast.
I’ll miss you Bobby B.

Do you think there are bikes wherever you’re going?