Discontent in the bar on a Saturday

Everyone seems to be okay

Except this one character

Late fifties sniffing for something young

Couple too many drinks he has

Flung

Back

Into his wasted soul

And hardened heart

This man is doing nothing

But playing the creepy old man part

His breathe reeks of alcohol and beer

Harassing the poor musicians to play

A pick me up tune

So he can swoon the younger ladies

Sickened

To my stomach as I see him rummage

Through these civilized people

He is garbage left in the summer sun

Ruining the night life of everyone

His hair slicked back in 80’s fashion

Blond with protruding teeth

Blue eyes that see

Nothing but flesh on the bones of young women

He is sickened me to no redemption

I am but inches away from bending

Flinching into a rage of spirit

So that everyone in this bar can hear it

He is a wasted soul washed up on the shore

For he is that

And nothing more