Dear, John..

Dear John,

You look misplaced,

Here, on the metal table.

Disheveled beard, jaw stiff.

I'm glad I didn't know you

Before the accident;

It would have been demanding

To overlook your bruises.

But now I see them,

As a part of you,

As if you bore them

All your motorcycling life.

Dear John,

You're no one's.

No one came to claim you,

And Even though you're tall

And fairly handsome

Nobody's filling out the forms

Your leather jacket came with you.

It looks a little better

Than you will ever look now.

I could have been

Your Mrs. Doe.

A happy couple.

I am also no one's.

I also love the bikes,

The speed, the venture.

I could have

Sat behind you,

On desert stretch

From Omaha to Denver,

And hug you tight,

So neither of us,

Would feel alone

Becoming one with pavement.

Dear John..

What life we could have had.

Sincerely,

Your Never Missus.