Lined up at the bar like crows on a fence
neighborhood bar, single every one of us, avoiding
another meal alone.
the smiling barkeep, clanging sounds from the kitchen,
the smell of grease. We nuzzle our drinks, sip slowly,
roll the taste around in our mouthes - and sigh.
shouts out the answers. Another bemoans the stupidness
of others while yet another talks to the air. Two slip
outside to smoke. Left to our own devices, we eat
fried food and have another drink.
with our coats and start for the door. Along the way,
we stop to speak to other boomers we recognize but
cannot name. We smile and wish each other good night
and walk to our cars and drive home.