He liked going to bars to get in fights.
I always wondered what was wrong with him.
Sometimes he’d win. Sometimes he’d lose.
He often had the blacks and the blues
All over his beaten face and body.
He kept getting into bar fights
Into his too old to fight middle-aged years.
He began losing all his fights
Until he disappeared.
Rumors are rife.
A fight with a wiseguy
And preserved in concrete
Or dumped in the ocean?
A dementia from all the hits to his head
And locked away in a nursing home?
Nobody knows
But for sure
He had many enemies
Who are hoping he’s dead
Bob Boyd