the place was dirty
dirty like only the South can be
i was drinking bud lights
drinking the daylight away
drinking the outside, and the noise, and the heat away.
i was sitting amongst several gray-haired men
and i knew i didn't belong, but
they didn't seem to know,
or care.
they had toothless sisters living in trailerparks in Alabama
they had sons they had not talked to in years
most had seen war and death and destruction.
"vietnam!" yelled a man in the corner,
and threw his prosthetic leg on the table
the men nodded their heads,
and mumbled in secret agreement.
they were all missing some body-part or another
i guess that's what made them whole.
outside, wild chickens were roaming the dusty parking lot,
pecking on cigarette-butts and empty beer-cans.
we laughed, we drank, and we hid our tears
and as the bar closed down, Patsy Cline was singing from the jukebox
or maybe that's just how i want to remember it.
"i'll be damned if this ain't the greatest nation on the planet" i said
and they all agreed.
then we stumbled out into the night
a night filled with crickets and fire-flies
and the occasional fist-fight
all in all it was a fine night.
one for the record books.