Ode to a Neighborhood Dive Bar

The Stained wooden door’s not as polished now
(though, in truth, it never quite was).
I drive by it still, remembering how,
It would open and lead to a buzz.

The regulars: how many of them are still there,
Their usual stools still in place.
You’d wonder, to look at them (That is, if you’d care)
What they would see in this space.

A screen to watch a game, race, or fight.
Which most would cheer as it ends.
A round of cheap beer (two bucks for Bud Light)
Friendly fellows, if not fellow friends …

Who were searching for something when they would share
Their stories, their sports and cold brew.
And is it their fault, or ours, that they found it there,
And not with me, or with you?

Autumn

I wrote this one a few months back:

Ode to fleeting beauty

Your nights are brisk, dear Fall,

Your sunsets light the sky afire.

You, mirroring, perhaps, the shades of trees

Which I now watch with awe:

This yearly show where you inspire

Bright leaves ablaze, then floating on the breze.

And yet, you tease my heart

Your gorgeous brilliance doomed to fade

And how can I embrace your waning strength?

Yet I’m wrong from the start

No matter how briefly you stayed.

Its depth of love that matters, not the length.