One More Shot For The Gipper...(I Guess) For Jerry...Because He Knows Poem by r james sterzinger

after coming home from work,
after walking the dog-
I take my clothes down to the washer,
and throw on my ratty old red bathrobe.

after putting water in the teakettle,
brewing a bland cup of pekoe,
I sit in front of my computer.

middle aged, overweight,
ignored, beaten, broke down.
I think of falling in love-
one more time
I think of holding a beautiful woman's hand
one more time.

she'd be my age,
maybe broken and beaten like me-
but she'd be beautiful to me none the less.

we'd drink weak tea,
or cheap red wine, like I like.
stare into each other's eyes,
kiss, hold hands on the couch,
give it one last mournful shot
just because we're romantics,
just for the hell of it.

there's always hope.
there's always madness.
there's always rainy nights,
to write poems of hopeless hope
that keeps you hanging on,
knowing you know better though.