Eleven Tooth

by john clare

Will we ever ride again the long pine lined route up to Moniac?
Just to stop at the store for a drink with the eleven tooth gal?
Then turn around for a RC stop in Taylor on our journey back?
If this was what they called the burning of daylight,
Roger sure knew how.

Caught in a long tailwind of dream, we silently pedaled the miles,
The hand ahead faithfully pointing to the broken glass.
Seems the Sanderson gals had the prettiest smiles,
We never considered this burning of daylight wouldn't last.

In the spin of the laundromat on his phone he spoke.
It was mostly to friends I had never met,
But knew all their tears, how their lives were broke.
Then in the steady cadence their woes I'd forget.

Long climbs and upon the top I would stop,
While down in the valley struggled my friend.
But once upon the flats, I would be dropped,
Then all forgiven upon seeing her eleven tooth grin.

The gals moved on and now they never know,
Once in time a friend cared they labored hard.
Some day to the lone Moniac store I must go,
Tell the eleven tooth girl Roger sends his regard's.