They come early
and stay late
sitting at the bar
dulling themselves to fate.

Saturdays are even longer
well into the evening
the Snowbirds linger
elbows on the bar leaning.

Not morose nor sad
they lift their glasses
to cheer and be glad.
As each hour passes

the decibels rise deafening servers
just looking for good tips
(from pinchy old-timers)
hoping not to get gypped
.

Then abruptly it will end.
To their Gulf-side cottages
they will amend
hoping home to find.

except it is now dark;
but they will find their way
though fears are stark
forgetting it all for another day

where crackles and cackles roar —
heard ever so far
through opening doors
back at the seaside bar.

They try to live the old slogan,
“While the sun shines, make hay, ”
but they wait for the other falling brogan
signaling their unavoidable fate.