Last Call Poem by Floyd Crenshaw

at first it was
adolescent curiosity
that gave me legs
and the inability
to understand fear.

then 'man'-like impressions
for pride and recognition
disregarding lines or borders
braincells were not an issue
when women were around.

moments of inebriation
slouch on memory's display case
or shamble about
shame's shaded,
shoe-box-moment
cemetery.

then at some point
it happens
a cigarette is just a cigarette
a drink is just a drink
a high is just a high,
and sometimes,
sex is just...
not love.

and the youth
and the fun
and the curiosity
become
bad experiences
lame 'older dude' lessons
awkward moments
denial
annoyance
and the need for a new
cycle of life...

and i know
a different ship
is leaving every second....