The Boys

Crack open a cold one, brothers and sit
round my table, glass circled like the currents
where we touched shores of unfamiliar countries
and found our way again back home.
Speak loudly and spark fire,
we lost kings in ill fitting robes, 
who crouched round trees that echoed 
the firecracker burst, all these years later 
still ringing in our ears.
The sticks that were swords
turned to guns that were guns
and desks in offices 
with pictures of our more remembered selves
lined up neatly like plans 
for our more future selves.
We lucky few, we idiot adventurists,
that fell through cracks and far narrower paths
to be sitting here tonight, forgetting and believing
again in all that's good 
about cold pizza the morning after,
thinking about our love but never speaking it,
and finally coming together again
when it's been too long
since we last shared time.