I was idling patiently at that long red light on Shakespeare Road-
Perhaps it was seeing that name that drove me to pen this ode-
When I was shaken from my reverie by a motorcycling moron
Who blasted through the still-red light, off to Hell and gone.
Over the fading roar I heard a mindlessly maniacal chortle
Trailing from a halfwit who thought a Hog made him immortal,
It was his lunatic behaviour made me recall it was at this very place
That an aquaintence from my past had moved on to a state of grace.
Not friends, a love for motorbikes the one thing in common we had,
This was your archetypically simple surly monosyllabic bit of a bad lad,
I’d had the privelege of crossing his path on the interschool football field;
He’d proved a brutal tackler then, but with time, my wounds have healed.
His private school could find no way to remediate this malcontent,
At fifteen, educated with only a bad attitude, out the door he went,
Yes, I realise that it’s neither good form or etiquette to think ill of the dead
But could there ever be much of a future in store for this prize knucklehead?
Yet, at fifteen, without a job or skill
He’d lined up a deal to buy a Bonneville,
What would a rigorous IRD audit possibly reveal?
Besides cultivating good business sense, a great deal.
His red-rimmed eyes gazed off into space
Behind the dark tint of his full-face,
He’d taken to smoking what he sold
-He soon sounded like Vader with a cold.
Next he took to flying high, at speed,
An accident waiting to happen, all agreed,
He began gambling approaching the amber light,
It was glaringly obvious this boy was none too bright.
What a wild card he was, pushing the boundaries and his luck
Until he ploughed his Bonneville into an innocent container truck,
There the Triumph and its rider terminated. coming to a crashing halt,
So stop for lights, otherwise its lights out, and it’s whose damn fool fault?