two fifty a pitcher 

the beer nuts are free

we come every Wednesday for Ladies’ Night

and a girl with a rose tattoo on her thigh 

who dances like fingers trailing through water

or a breeze that blows through a room full of candles

she looks very much like a young Mia Farrow 

her hair is the color of thousands of summers

our hair is thinning and beginning to gray

we look a lot like boarded up houses

or towns that were flooded and washed off the map 

the beer mugs are frosted

the beer nuts are free

we come like a lion and leave like a lamb

we watch her as if we wore paste-on mustaches

and drink to forget all the chances we had

to dance like the girl with the rose on her thigh

who is bare in the light

and does not give a damn.


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