But the game includes killing Boys in another country. At the end of this beer, I pay a tax, make sure They’re dead. A man asks to change The channel, unaware of his own safety. Barflies look at him as if he’s spilled The final pint of ale. Loneliness Is a practice. Like medicine. Like law, the law of the land Live in twenty-four time zones. The last man standing is The first one alone. Which of us Is too drunk to stagger Home? Not me. I can drink A few more, see the Patriots Or the Cowboys or another Very long war right Here on this stool, watching My money work for me, the heat Up and me comfortable enough To complain about it.