when the night was young

years ago,

a friday night would be

happy

hour, which lasted until

the joint closed

at 2 am.

still in our work clothes,

our coats and ties,

our dress shirts,

our scuffed shoes.

we'd have run out of steam

by then,

drunk enough,

full of bar food,

potato skins and burgers,

every girl in the place

knowing our names

and laughing,

shaking their heads as

we sang loudly every

song we knew.

for better or worse,

let's erase

the tape, and do it all

over again

next week, the night was

young

and so was i, and so

were you.