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Is there anyone out there that's read the poem Black Jackets? I was given an assignment in English class one day to write a bit of prose that filled in the gaps of the poem. Basically... rewrite the poem as if it were prose. I found it in a box and reread it, and I found it very nice, actually. I'm typing it out to see what you think...



Jack carefully pushed the door open, happy to have shed his work uniform for his comfy, creaking black leather. His pals sat at a table near the door, the jukebox just finished playing "Falling in Love is Hard on the Knees" by Aerosmith. Calling for a beer, Jack sat down at the table and nodded, waved hello to his buddies, young and old, fresh faced or worn down, decked out in boots and leather jackets not unlike his own. But the jackets beneath their shaggy chins were different from his. Jack settled back in his chair and smiled at his can of beer, the soft creaking of his jacket welcoming him to the weekend.
Jack's gaze fell on the sleeve of his jacket. It was wearing down, but seemed more beautiful now than the day it was given to him. These scratches, he thought, were from the first time I wiped out my hog. And these fine marks, he thought again, shifting his shiney sleeve in the dim light, were made in the first gang fight we got into. His mind came back to the table, to the tales of the older bikers trying to impress the new ones, tall tales of danger and untold adventure. Voices laughed near the back, and then came the tell tale sound of the gun, buzzing lik a huge, hungry beast in the blackness.
Shoulders itching, Jack remembered his acceptance into the group. On his shoulders were tattoos identical to the ones that some of the new boys would be receiving tonight. It was like a rite of passage to become a part of the The Knights. On Jack's left shoulder was the group name, while on the right was the group slogan; Born to Lose.
Jack finished off his beer and crushed the can in his fist. Born to lose. It was true. All he had to show of his new life was his bike, his pride, and his worn and beaten leather jacket.
Meat Loaf's "Life is a Lemon" started on the jukebox, and Jack called for another beer.

Urgh! I searched online for the poem, but I cannot find it anywhere. I checked my English Lit book from grade twelve, and it isn't in there either... I'll have to keep looking.