by BostonFictionWriter©

Shooting at a hoop,
Drinking a cold pop,
Checking out the cars,
Staring at women,
Twenty-five-years-old,
With nothing to do,
And nowhere to go,
Nothing changes.

Sitting on a chair,
Drinking a cold beer,
Checking out the cars,
Staring at women,
Forty-five-years-old,
With nothing to do,
And nowhere to go,
Nothing changes.

Sitting on a bench,
Need to take a piss,
Feeding the pigeons,
Staring at women,
Sixty-five-years-old,
With nothing to do,
And nowhere to go,
Nothing changes.

Shitting in my bed,
Wishing I were dead,
I can’t drive at night,
Eighty-five-years-old,
Wish I weren’t here,
Anywhere but here,
Nothing is the same,
Everything changes.