There he stood, six foot four,
as I was about to die.
The hair, the beard, the way he sneered,
oh yea, and only one eye.

His face was as a sculpture,
exhuming hidden fears.
That time and wind, carved deep within.
A project of many years.

One Eyed Joe lived down the street,
with a three leg-ged dog named Booth.
They said he was mad, but I was glad,
to eventually know the truth.

A biker before it was trendy to be.
A man who kept to himself.
Who tried the jive, of nine to five.
But chucked it on life's back shelf.

So there I was, flat on my back,
a wheelie gone awry.
Looking to be cool. Looking quite the fool.
The glare of Joe's one eye.

He leaned, he looked, he shook his head.
It was then I began to pray.
Stretched out his hand, 'Listen up, young man.'
'You will NOT get girls that way.'

'Yes, sir, 'spose that's true.'
'I sure looked pretty lame.'
'Worse thing for me, far as I can see,
I think I bent my frame.'

Joe let loose a thunderous laugh.
'Kid, you and I are alike.'
'To this 'ol coot, ain't nothin' like my scoot.'
'What say we fix your bike'?

My face said all there was to say.
'It's ok kid, I know.'
'I get that stare near everywhere.'
'Crazy 'ol One Eyed Joe.'

'A bent up frames easy to fix…
Ya won't have long to wait.'
'But I'm of a mind, people tend to be blind.'
'Some frames just never get straight.'

As he helped me fix my bike that day,
his words fell into place.
'Joe, are we friends'? 'Kid, that all depends'…
If ya bag that ugly face.

I laughed so hard I almost cried,
then blurted, 'You should talk.'
'Kid, I'm through, she's good as new.'
'Or perhaps you'd like to walk'?

Twenty years since he's passed on.
The truth I came to know?
'There's no guarantee, your two eyes will see,
' better than One Eyed Joe.'

by The Ironhorse Writer™
4/09/2002

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LaurenceP.Scerri (TheIronhorseWriter™)
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