The Boozers

At the bar, men  

many 24, assume the position

in suspenders, commission tattoos

freethink over knifepoints of cocaine

watch boxing matches, and 

wonder what old cars they’d be fixing 

if they’d listened to their grandfathers more.

 

It’s 12:30 and the boozers are drunk

so they celebrate;

in truth they’re feeling far from home

drunk enough to use baseball metaphors 

but the boozers think they’d like to ramble

their longtime girlfriends they imagine

crying in front of the refrigerator when they’re gone.

 

Women like morels 

growing into the floors

of carpeted apartments.

Young women with better jobs and families take pity

feel a deep and personal shame, and

have the grace it seems to pick them up

take them home and pet their slicked-back hair

 

While he boozers count their irregular heartbeats

hint at a secret poetry

lie about the writing day spent 

watching the dog watch flies.

 

And the young women pay the gas bill

sweep the hearth, abide.