Home alone yet on the run.
Nothing left and nowhere to go.
Windows open on a quiet night,
I could hear the sound of a muffled twin approaching.
The rider shut her off about a block away,
then the quiet ringing of chains on sprockets
coasting down the street,
into my drive.
Brakes hissing to a stop.
Boots knocked my wooden steps.
A brogue in my doorway announced
‘God Bless all here.’
Is this how it ends?
The running was over,
so I handed him a cuppa.
He poured out an inch then added some of his own.
For the sake of the craic, I asked if the exhaust was stock.
He shook his head,
“They don’t need to know if I coming or going laddie, that’s my business.
You’re a good man.
It’s fine to take what you want, but there’s a price.”
He told me what was expected of me.
And not to worry,
I’d find myself on the road.
It was safest for me.
“Follow your voice, you know the one.
Do what’s right versus what feels good.
They need your words boy.
Nothing’s free – there’s a price tag on everything.
Even your freedom.”
I gave him my word.
We locked eyes and shook on it.
“Thanks for the cuppa…be free.”
He coasted downhill, dropping the clutch in second gear.
Odd such a hard man rides a quiet machine.
And just like that, Death rolled back towards New York City.
(For the riders Jack & Duncan)

I see him coming on the other side of the road and flinch. On a crossroad he brushed past me, but somehow I lived. One day we’ll ride alongside, all the time in the world by then. They say the darkest place is Just below the lighthouse… Thank you for another beautiful piece.
Mr Lawless’s prose at its finest . With just a touch dare I say of H.ST. and a hint of Jim Harrison ( thats a compliment of the first order by the way )
And to boot … the photo’s are absolutely apposite
As an addendum though … I’ve had the displeasure ( along with being of a certain age having him on my tail ) of laying side by side with Death ( DRSP ) coming within hours of losing … and let me tell ya … to put it in the vernacular … they aint nothin positive to say about the experience what so ever . So here’s hoping ole death keeps his/her goram distance for at least awhile longer … for all of us . Keeping the Sausage Creature behind us as we go
😎
This is a short story but it feels more like poetry to me. Good writing gives you a picture great writing gives it a scene and action. In such a few words Mike Lawless has done that. I know of an older Irishman and he brought him to life for me once again.
With all due respect . Actually Mr Hudson .. you need to expand your definition of poetry a bit … as in … this IS poetry … not a short story .
[ re; Bob Dylan , Jim Harrison , Robinson Jeffers , T.S. Elliot , William Blake , the ‘ Bard ‘ etc ..etc .. et al ]