The same old faces, the same table,
the same beer, the same stale smells.
He’s a musician, dyes his hair blue-black,
loves a dog named Spook,
and carries a reminder of Alexandria, LA on his arm.
“No big deal,” he says.
“I had stayed too long at Vino’s, it was time to move on.”
Maybe he’ll go to Australia or cut a record deal.
There’s lots of time and courage at thirty-one.
Time to move on, live outside the limits,
ride the creative wave, and even learn to surf.
At sixty-one things seem harder, courage thinner.
I’ve stayed too long at Vino’s
there is no Australia, no record deal waiting for me,
only death in small daily doses.