The Old Days

All the hours we spent spitting off of the bridge
Beat the hell out of anything we're doing now.
All the long nights of bad scotch and cigarettes,
Weekends in wet tents and, as they turned out,
Wrong predictions, were better than becoming
Who we became: two sorry old salarymen
Stuck in apartments, divorced and unsightly,
Disowned by our kids. Take my arm. I would
Trade it for more of that scotch and a pack
Of those cigarettes, and what they came with,
Such high expectations, each one of them
Smashed, like a bottle tossed off of a bridge.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 21 times
Written on 2021-11-18 at 11:13

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