the Games they play, Benedict Brooke

Larry O’Flynn drank a bottle of gin Each night after work when he got in Empties stacked in the yard while they marked his card At the one or two places where he wasn’t barred The photo of her still sits on the TV Though she ain’t been here since 1983 He used to take her dancing and a little romancing Down the Dewdrop Inn, Saturday night Now he sits in his shorts, tuned to TV sports Watching re runs of last weeks’ fight. Eileen O’Flynn don’t know where to begin Her only date looked like Ho Chi Min Asking him to leave, it seemed too much fuss It’s the choice between desperation - or a lonely lush Larry bumped into her at the Seven- Eleven Arranged to take her for a bite, Tuesday night at seven And a few days later, he cleans up the yard Sobered up cold turkey, though it was pretty hard Eileen looks through an old wedding catalog But we ain’t for turning; we’re going all the way Things’ll be different, starting today You’re thinking of me, when I’m thinking of you And you’re kissing me, and I’m kissing you too I guess it’s kind of strange today the games unmarried people play