Old Photos That Stop A Soul

She gave
a quick glance over some old photo
clicked by, recalling that trenchant laugh
tinkling away at what hour it had and is now become;
or those innocent hands, folded, set
like starched stone grave markers at sunset;
a flash in the heart at the glimpse of calf;
later dancing, later kisses that tasted of rum,
but now, snipped out of time and so,
and so and so.

Song for Drunkards

We go out, we stumble about
Drink up the wine, make fools of ourselves

We go out, grumble on about
the distance involved from then to ourselves

We go out, rumble and shout
try to believe that the regrets will all pass

And we go out, should have gone back in
drunk up the wine, made fools of ourselves