my father's world was men-pubs,work,sweat,beer
He drove and fist fought his way through his world-
but he is dead,and his world is gone.
Sometimes,in old black and white movies,with Humphrey Bogart,i see
men smoking and drinking and fighting as he fought
Yet am i soft ,indoors,one who would run rather than war
Frontiers are for fighting,yet when settlement comes
Guess who would be the one to roost in home,writing poems
about rough days long gone-smoke and guns and beer and bongs
all swept away in this closing hours line.Gone,gone,gone,gone....
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