Roadside Diner, just up ahead,
in front, a primo spot.
Backed in my scoot,
laughed at my boots,
'more dirt than leather', I thought.
Wasn't exactly very well scrubbed,
been one hell of a long, hard ride.
A burger sounded good,
and, if need be, guess I could,
take my grub and eat it outside.
Once inside, those classic stares,
that sets me all aglow.
Was it, 'No Good Bum',
or 'Biker Scum',
which touched my heart just so?
The 'ol waitress who worked the joint,
probably from day one...
thought, for sure, was gonna shout,
'grab yer gloves and get the hell out!'....
smiled and said, 'Help ya son?'
I smiled, she winked, told me, 'Pay'em no mind,
yelled, 'NUMBER 2, MEDIUM WITH SPUDS!'
She gave me a Coke,
told me a joke,
said, 'Sorry hun, aint got no suds.'
She took a break and sat by me, reminisced awhile,
about a son,
her only one,
how I kinda had his smile.
Her eyes welled up, as she went on,
of how he loved to ride.
I held her hand,
said, 'I understand',
'It's a feeling deep inside.'
Orders were up, she had to go,
'I too have to run',
On my way out,
she barked at the crowd,
'GOD LOVE THAT BIKER SCUM!'
-- Laurence P. Scerri
