Happy Hour

Men cry into their beer and whisky
Hunched over at the bar,
Sometimes with lonely tears, or guilty emotion.
Peering out from behind baseball caps or cowboy hats,
They aimlessly search for a reason or an excuse.
If they can hold their liquor, they can stay,
Until they weep out loud, or start a fight.
The real tough ones smile and bid everyone farewell,
And say things like, “I’ll see ya tomorrow” or “take care”
Until the day they find hope or die.
Some may ask, “what happened to old what’s his name”,
Or, “where’s that guy who used to sit there?”
Some just order another drink.

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