on Friday night just after 10
small town locals gather talkin ****
standing outside a dive bar dimly lit
a loud crowd of obnoxious drunk derelicts
anxiously wait gossip and smoke cigs
faint amplified sounds of acoustic guitars
play practiced late night written chords
half lit ***** drenched musicians
with whiskey soaked rockstar ambitions
strum vintage Gibson’s and fender strats
songs about lost loves what if’s and regrets
behind a big shiny silver microphone stand
prominently displayed fancy cowboy hat
his handmade tailored studded boots
tap in rhythm sipping a glass of absolute
charred smokey voice like a burnt cigarette
personifies a James dean confidence