arose like a mighty warrior from the chair
shouting for all who cared to listen about
his record of football triumph.
The golden boy, the next big thing,
a can’t miss, this was Steve.
I was waiting on him to arrive.
A brawling 6’3 inch specimen drooling words
only a senile gentleman recites to himself
in a dark room, staring at cheat reflections.
The irritated spectators sipped alcohol
numbing the sounds of a never was.
Old men can be argumentative at times.
Steve possessed nothing his feeble mind
garnished as factual history this night,
an old man of grandeur and meanness.
Spewing vulgarities mindlessly
about his youthful athletic invincibility.
He was stuck with anger, in a past time.
His lips soaked with a cheat lipstick
sprouting indecencies on passive listeners.
On this night, the crowd was not cheering.
The crowds never cheers forever.
“I Was Great!” You Bitches and Hoes!
Sure you were, helpless guests mouth closing their
mental panic room’ doors.
I watched Steve that night thinking
very little. I was not enamored by his mean wit
or profanity-filled tirades. You see, he
was my friend in a self-chambered illusion.
So, I must join him in his party
as ill-conceived as it sounds.
Though I did not make excuses
for his behaviors, my face shaped
forgiveness for his tenure this night.
I was his friend and tears flowed inside.
How could I deny this beaten
old man his fake facts.
Although witnessing the moment, I wished they had occurred.
He needed them to be an asset again, a big shot.
I was waiting for him to acknowledge
he made his narratives up, but he did not.
Thus, I believed his imaginings along side him
for this night.
Steve was in a place that never existed
and he did not know it.
But, old men get stuck at times
and they need friends
I am Steve’s friend and I’ll wait on him.
I hope he’s all still here, when he comes back.