Three beers and two shots later
And my body still aches. The
Old men at the bar swap stories
With the bartender. None
Of the stories make sense
Unless you've lived between
The same two mile markers
Your entire life,
And they have lived here so long
They know every blade of grass
By the direction it grows
In any given season. I have no stories --
Any I would tell
Lack context and meaning.
And like every joke, when you have to
Explain the punchline
It probably wasn't worth telling
In the first place. Two more shots,
And my body still aches. The
Old men at the bar swap stories
With the bartender. None
Of the stories make sense
Unless you've lived between
The same two mile markers
Your entire life,
And they have lived here so long
They know every blade of grass
By the direction it grows
In any given season. I have no stories --
Any I would tell
Lack context and meaning.
And like every joke, when you have to
Explain the punchline
It probably wasn't worth telling
In the first place. Two more shots,
I tell myself, and two more beers
I'll find that Abe Vigoda genius
Lacking in all my sardonic commentary.