A life can spiral out of control downward at a rapid pace

A life can spiral out of control downward at a rapid pace
Then it is reduced to a smudged and wrinkled George Washington
Slipped absently across a bar – one more can of Old Style

There was no next of kin when they broke the doors down
Someone said he had a son – a son in a band
“Listen to my son’s music,” he beckoned from his weathered barstool

The barstool is empty now – it will soon be reassigned
Some other life – some other meager existence
Will take over the last of the barstools without an owner.

The rest of us will watch in wonder – sometimes in horror
We will hope that we aren’t found days later by bar buddies
We pray our friends would never let that happen

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