the water of time

a drink or two
in the crowded bar
with
an old friend who nurses
a jack daniels
and you with your gin
and tonic, mostly tonic.
the pours are stingy here.
not like the old
days when they knew
your name.
everyone is thirty or
younger.
the both of you old
enough to be
fathers of most,
grandfathers to some,
lean into one another to
hear what the other one
has said.
something about his knees,
something
about your eyes.
strange music, music
you've never heard before
rattles and booms
from above.
the girls are all the same.
they've never changed.
still young, still
bright like flowers on
the water of time.