I’ve lost count of the bonfires

smouldering mounds of left over branches

that are ‘brash’ fires

standing, sitting, lolling around

talking deep & meaningfuls

under sharp stars

while staring into embers

we do this

sometimes sipping at bourbon

drinking the apples

glugging beers

in a way that eludes the careless observer

who would miss the care

gentle concern covered by steel

that is the conversation of men

around a fire

words here are elliptical

steady, slow

for to rush is to deny finesse

the detail of concern

pain, love & of the decay

in another man’s lifesong

to an unappreciative ear

this is but a litany of grunts

raucous laughter

dirty jokes

long moments of silence

these if jumped into out of turn

or to miss the signal

of time to think

is instead of reasoned comparison

to the sagas of Beowulf

& will incur wrath if interrupted



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