The night after the biker war
Tick walked into the cafe’
And asked to borrow the table
That I’d been sitting at.

It was post-Christmas.
He set down his helmet
And pulled his black Jacket back
To reach into the inner pocket.

His face was all scarred up
And his leather was coated with old punk
The torn T-shirt near the pocket
Had the skull of The Exploited spiking out.

I caught his night glow Timex
Just like Uncle Jumbo Pop’s
And I knew why he was there
With a chemical liquid in a balloon.

He making sure it had held
It hadn’t broken under his arm.
He was saving it for the set up scene
Where at least sixty death certificates
Would be issued.

"They were all my friends and they died."