Poem: Guy Arlen Morrison 1962-1988, by Arlene S. Bice

arlene s bice

it was a quiet, warm, sunny mid afternoon
they came cruising down the main thoroughfare
from the river end of town, trees overhanging
moving slowly, one bike after another
after another, on the shady avenue
Harleys in low gear, low rumble
black leather jacketed all, jeans
even the girls riding shotgun
in black helmets, high boots
to the far end of town still under trees
to Huber-Moore Victorian funeral home
bikes neatly parked all in a row

local police were alarmed!
“No, no” said Chief Phil
“no problem here. Relax.”
he knew what this was
friends paying respect
no gang war or rivals

respectfully they climbed the hill
across the wide, covered porch
stepped over the threshold
into the hushed. tiled foyer
sorry to be there, wouldn’t think of not

“Hey Mom” followed by hugs
young men I knew as 6 year olds
still sweet, tender, towering over me
a few saying Mrs. Morrison though my
name returned to Bice a long time ago
caring, hearts heavy, considerate

my son lay dead, drowning accident
impossible to believe
they all came to say good-bye
hug me one more time

a small reception was held in the hall at
Hope Hose Humane First Aid Squad
they were the same who volunteered
to dredge the whole day through
the bikers passed the hat
collected $400 to donate
to this caring group

we drank, we ate
everyone had a story
about Guy
he was that kind of a kid
who became a man
and left.

Author: poetryfest

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