Drunk Hit and Run and My Old Friend Tex - Part 3 of 4 "Dents and Scratches"

Once again Charlie took it hard, missed his dear Barbie, he let down his guard,
Helpless, the frozen panic, the blood in the street, that truck just struck! Sent her twenty-five feet!
Holding that drunk, alone in my eyes, I watched from the curb, his pus-gut rise.
What was the harm? We shared just one breath.
What drove him so far? What was the welcome he got at the bar?
She recovered, ailing all summer, the mulish grace the impact could not erase,
Though sad to see, her gleam it seemed, now washed from her face.

As the look of Tex, a doggone, far gone look of calm, he, my meat-end vagabond,
His face, a mix of power and pain, with surrender above, simmered fire below, his smoldered strain, a lone sparrow in the rain.
Going nowhere, in his ’63 Valiant, silence, blank stares, are the moments we shared.
Lit beneath ivory gold skies, I’d watch him a’rope, plastic ponies in the rye.
Each day I’d want more, to connect with ol’ Tex,
‘Til the day, sitting still without snore, impressions to take from him no more.
In stilted silence, I wished I’d been there.
When dying alone, who takes in your last stare?