You were like scribbles outside the lines.
An opinionated, royal calamity.
A radical, a mutineer,
A warrior defeating conformity
You wore a tattered, leather jacket,
Over a shirt cut just above the hips.
And you had red, chipped fingernails,
With matching, crimson lips.
We sat in these stools in this hazy bar,
And you struck conversation right here.
Me, sipping my lukewarm coffee,
You, downing your frothy beer.
I listened, and you spoke
About your nomadic home,
Describing a life tied down to nothing,
Nothing except the road.
You spoke using your hands,
Each sentence more animated than the last.
Your raspy words piercing,
Like the shattering of crystal glass.
And then you strapped onto your bike,
Driving at the speed of flying.

Shredding right out of this town,
Becoming one with infinite highway.
Well, I closed down the bar that night,
Ashamed at my subdued fears,
Regretting my passive, fleeting life,
Swallowing down forlorn coffee tears.