Friday Night at the R.B. Country Club

It was my second encounter in the space of one month with ancient Jews.
Eighty years old today, his life prolonged ostensibly by swimming,
with olympic medals from "Back in the Day" still impressing the awestruck sons.
Drunken speeches gave way to drunken dancing as "Hava Nageela"
blared from my torn speaker, left unrepaired due to my lazyness,
with a buzz and thwap like a fly caught between the screen and the window.

On the break, I go outside to call my friend who is on the way to the emergency room.
Gregg, the drummer with two Gs, is trying to convince his wife to stay for the last set.
The bar is open and Donny is trying to get a drink while the guest of honor is trying to
talk his ear off like an olympic bar-fly. Donny smiles and never gets his drink.
Gary has gone to smoke a joint, and who can blame him.

Ten o'clock on the nose. The lights come up, the bar is closed. Ancient Jews
are streaming to the parking lot and I will get my bread on Tuesday.