Sinister friends,
laughing sneerers with wooden hearts,
counting money at a wobbly card table
in a dank dirt-floored cellar
where a single bulb hangs overhead
from a long and fraying wire.

My dirty friends,
screwing as a job
drinking as a cause
smoking on the job
bored with their hair,
how to change,
really change
my look?

My stupid friends,
chortling and grabbing
after waitresses and in parking lots
proud to fail and just
take it easy man

A man without friends is a man looking
he’s a man on the prowl
a man with a mission
anything to end this loneliness
anything to meet my needs
as a social animal.
You know?

Author: BW
Copyright: AMW