Chores done
Time for a beer
I should cut back
Maybe next year.
Tires crunching gravel
Engage parking brake
Will tired feet to travel
I have thirst to slake.
Bright outside, inside dim
Eyes adjust
Disinhibited shouts, the usual din
Here and there, a smattering of lust.
Bartender, sleeves rolled up
Looking at me and past me
Draws IPA into a cup
Crumpled bills sacrificed, nothing’s for free.
Patrons’ boots hooked to the rail
Some are sober
Others look worked over
Soon to vomit in a pail.
Out on the patio
Fire, tobacco, smoke
Imbibing, puffing, the right ratio
Cool hops, Cuba’s glory to toke.
A dog chasing a ball cavorts
Ignoring carapaced critters
Mercy of a sort
Tail twitching as drunks titter.
Hellos and “How ya doin’s?”
Droughts for others bought
Football’s weekly ruin
Wisdom here is not sought
Politics, sport, barstool maharajas
Holding court
Sunday blahs, sunset demons
Predating on the edge of reason.
Cigar cindered to stub; beer done
Billards echoing, money lost and won
Hinges rusted protest, “Where ya going Bub?”
The drive home beneath the dying glare
Of our only sun.
