The Gods of Our Choosing

Squandering days at an old island bar

Watching the world pass him by

Can’t win for losing

The god of his choosing

To a bottle

And a love that won’t die

 

Coffee at sunrise and midmorning beer

He rolls in the bar by noon

Pension affords him

The comforts to hold him

Cheap needles

And a black bottomed spoon

 

Afternoon breezes and fluffy white clouds

Pretty girls in strings strolling by

They used to adore him

Now mostly ignore him

An old fool

Just a bird that can’t fly

 

He went to college and found a career

A perfectly capable man

But bad love soon found him

The debt almost drowned him

Four kids

And a green mini van

 

Stories abound at the old island bar

Pull up a stool and you’ll see

Folks that are losing

The Gods of their choosing

Living life

To a lesser degree

 

 

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