Biker Joe

The bar room door opened and there stood Joe,

Everyone looked, but too afraid to stare.

A massive dude and in no way fat. His face

half hidden by his beard and tangled hair.

Harley vest covered with patches, ridin’

gloves and a biker wallet hooked with a chain.

Biker Joe looked mean and tough enough to

derail a damn fast movin’ freight train.

Dwarfing a beer bottle with his lethal weapon

hands, he sat at that bar not uttering a sound.

I bet if ya crossed his wires you’d be broken

in half before the end of the first round.

Finally a sound from this big dude, “Another

beer” with a voice like gravel, gruff and low.

Quiet in here now, no one wanting to draw

attention and maybe receive the first blow.

Not looking at Joe, everyone watching a news

story about a little girl missing from here.

They missed it, from the corner of the meanest

eyes in here. There it was, a loving tear.