warriors, who are actually
old men now,
gather
at the bar,
some limping in,
some,
squinting for those
they know, an
empty booth, or stool,
holding their menus out.
complaining about
parking, how far
they had to walk.
they won't stay out
late, their wives no longer
afraid of what
trouble they'll get into.
on the way home, they'll
pick up milk
and bread,
things she wrote on a list,
after hugging old
comrades goodnight.
No comments:
Post a Comment