It’s a different bar stool
Upon a spring of a day.
A different constant,
Like a change on the jukebox;
from Social distortion and The Ramones,
To Rascal Flatts and a country musical serenade.
It’s the flowing river in the window
Of the local tiki style bar.
The changeover from hippie hairdos, dog walkers, and the girl walking home in her pink tutu,
To twangy accents of mountain folks, motorcycles, and pick up trucks.
It is the creatures that creep the streets,
Beyond bar walkers and forgotten households.
From the stray animals such as dogs, cats, and injured bohemian squirrels,
To the creek side inhabitants;
I’m talking about deers,bears, and a friendly ground hog living beneath my river view porch.
The same conversations that blend together into one random nights song,
To the old day conversations,
Of summers past that made a difference.
With stories that will always make me smile, I tonight sit with my
forgotten friends, our lives have split, and our stories and jokes have become separate.
We drink away the night, and reminiscence of a life without purpose.
Beyond the simple life winds that were a blowing many seasons long since abandoned.
There is an ever present constant,
And today I am elated that it is so.
As I walk through the evening mist,
And pull up a cozy wooden stool,
My ear hears “Get your kicks on route 66”. I decide not to sing or even hum along. There is just a slight tap in my foot as I order my favorite brew that is ice cold,
And always on tap.