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Party Boys
by David HillI could taste the alcohol
through my nostrils.
A few paces ahead of me,
my friends, such curious wanderers;
the Hube’s mole hunched waddle,
Pat’s prickly bur head bounce,
and Rich’s receding red mane
billowed by the sea breeze.
We were lonesome loser boys,
glowing, laughing and singing,
feeling like lions,
prowling the quiet back streets
in Wildwood morning night,
for the car we had come in...
...when rather suddenly, stars
began to spill from the silver slipper moon
and pop like champagne bubbles,
high in blackened sky above the brutal Atlantic.
02/01/2015 Posted on 02/01/2015
Copyright © 2026 David Hill
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