That Night
That Night
We gambled and we drank with a dying breed
That Night Smoked a little, too
Kindred Spirits of The Same ilk
Some Real Ones that Night
We were some good old boys
Downtown Crowd, top-Shelf Whiskey,
$25 bucks a shot, goes down warm and smooth
That Night we toasted Chance
And Made Cheers to Fate...
Outside an odd-shapen Moon
Hung overhead undulating watercolors
Between clouds On High
Giving out Goodnight, Goddess Kisses
And granting gentle glances
Down My Way only to set
My Glories and galavanting Aglow
I lost this Poem in the twisting Shadows
Of an alley That Night
But it knew with prophetic omniscience
I'd come back for it
It had to be written.
What's most ironic is that's exactly how John Rogers died
That Night Frozen in the darkness
Out There searching for a Poem
He'd written that Night in a similar
Maybe... Familiar Moonlit Field Once.