Stepping high
stooping low
flip flops on
pink toenails
moving slow
reminiscing
sorely missing
things were better
way back then
that’s where I want
to go.
one better life
lots less strife
soon I’m leaving
old man
believing
in a
reborn past
run his colors
up his sailboat mast.
we were roosters
they were hens
way back then
rough cut
men.
here I sit
sack of chips
drowned in beer
death coming near
have no friends
anymore
people think
I’m kinda’
weird…
thanking God
and the
devil
I at
least
don’t
think
I’m
a
queer.
