Polka Man

I saw him again.

This time during the day.


I followed my usual drive home.

Traffic was grueling,
but that was nothing new.

My mind was blank,
save for the 40's polka diner
set to be demolished later this week.

I couldn't help but wonder,
what life was like
back then.

Different problems,
same kind of life.

I myself,
would have been one of the many,
stowing my darkest secrets,
far from the front of the dark closet.

Still,
the thrill of booze soaked cocktail napkins,
while fidgeting with a half used match book,
flooded my mind.

I'd be unhappily married,
with no kids,
and an undying wife by side.

The bar would be a dark shade of red,
while the polka band queued up a sultry lounge singer.

Cigarette smoke in the air,
while glasses all around,
clinked and guzzled.

The wife incessantly clucking on,
while I quietly sip my drink.

A relief,
after a miserable day in the office.

I'd step away,
a piss break to the wife,
but in actuality,
I'd troll for a cigarette.

Behind the restaurant,
I'd slink into the dark alley.

In that alley,
would be another husband,
hiding from his discrepancies.

Neither would dabble in small talk.

Instead,
we'd scream violently to one another,
with our eyes.

What happened next,
I'll never know.

My 1940 flashback was disrupted,
as I stopped at a four way stop.

Crossing the intersection,
and stomping down the side walk
was the motorcycle man.

I could see his definitions much clearer.

He no longer had a tight braid.

His long gray hair,
blew wildly in the wind.

He was dressed in all black,
shirt,
pants,
same leather trench coat,
cut off gloves,
and boots.

Black glasses covered his eyes,
but didn't hide the defined cracks and lines
making up most of his face.


The car behind me,
let in on their horn.

I screeched through the intersection,
glancing at the man in my rear view mirror.

His silhouette shrunk,
the further I drove,
but to this day,
I'd swear he was watching me,
waiting,
and planning.