the lovers

you see the men
at the bar
without women.
without wives,
ruddy faced
from the beach
and waves,
perhaps eighteen
holes of
golf where no
one wins or
loses, but now
in untucked
shirts
and baggy pants,
bellies
unabashedly
hanging out,
beers in hand.
these men leaning
into one another,
hands over
shoulders,
cheek and against
rough cheek.
each talking more
loudly
than the other,
praising and
chiding
with aged joy.
lovers, more intimate
with one
another than
many true lovers
could ever be.