Three-fer - The Regan Years

On the main drag of the ragged Wisconsin county seat

Crumbling into the creek out back

The watering hole for late night riff-raff,

Smoke filled, macho filled, trouble filled,

Fight prone, fall down prone,

Slick floored, pool playing, loud,

Head banger rock and roll

And redneck honky-tonk playing

Till the sun don’t shine.

Small town toughs, temporary beauties on the downward slide,

Too young drunkards with fake ID’s,

And the rest of us with no place else to go

And no money to spend on it if we did,

Used up a few years of our lives

Swilling cheap beer and brown crazy water,

Bar stool hopping, slurring obscenities

Good natured and not,

Until bar time

And a pint and a to-go cup

And weaving on down the road

For drunken stupid sex

Or more drinking

Or collisions with trees and semis

Or paraplegia

Or crying jags over things

We were too drunk or whatever to realize

Or not drunk or whatever enough,

Whatever it was, all of us

Stumbling our way toward or away from

The rest of our lives

Or the wreckage we’ve left behind.