Frank J. Cormier
FLASHBACK AT THE OAK
As the Keith’s slips down
dry throat thoughts of dad
Unks and pals splayed in
June heat, stubs in hand,
deep talk of sports, girls,
dives, and low-wage work.
Claude and I would lurk
like cats, till pop would
get the hint, pour ounce
of brown stuff in our
juice cups, smile and tell
us to drink up. Two
six-year olds sipped in
Sun, dreamed they were men.