red throat whiskered grey
falling out of faded mustard polo
forced chuckle ungraceful swig of grigio

the young bucks pace the bar box
with warped cues in oily grips
hackles raised throaty taunts swell
four hours of sweat and calluses
sucked into the touchtone
producing synthetic bass loops
that pound the eighty-three year old tile to tears

i wish it was a deeper pool i waded into

still the water is refreshing

I haven't posted in awhile, I feel I'm out of shape.
Any criticism is most respectfully appreciated and shall be returned.
"Pain or damage don't end the world nor despair, nor fuckin' beatings. The world ends when you're dead, until then you have more punishment in store. Stand it like a man, and give some back."