wasn’t his fault
life kept pouring him
the next round
one for the road
old man bar
in harbor district
no pool table
no jukebox
television doesn’t work
only thing to do
is drink
then pour yourself
into the street
late night
city buses
so depressing
so empty
looking
for an answer
in the neon
dark alleys
boarded up buildings
ride around town
last stop
get off
get on
slow moving train
going back downtown
fall light through window
a soft yellowish orange
a chill in the house
look for a sweater
the one with some bears on it
there you are my friend
the geese making plans
for the skies soon to go south
some birds tough it out
go on
forever
although sometimes
it seems
like it does
some people
like dark clouds
looking to block
someone’s sunshine
somewhere
in the back of your mind
you have those plans;
you think about
where’d you go
down the road
it reaches out its hand
but you keep yours
in your pocket
the battery of my truck
died today
Friday night
we will be holding
a celebration of life
for it
open bar…
their souls remembered
a cold windy day
on the coast of old Belfast
in late November
‘neath the dark gray clouds
the pub is a warm respite
to brighten spirits
a rough night
at the roulette
table of life
it’s coming down
down and down
hard and harder
always bet on black
red
lay your money down
on red
black
puddles of woe
a flash flood
overflowing my boots
the broken glass
on the porch
the window now empty
the soul empty
darkest before the dawn
now it’s dark
dark and darker
darkest