by A Lad
When drinking with the lads my plight is plain to see
My thoughts freeze, and here lies my flaw.
They presume I have a meagre repartee
Then they dismiss me as a bore.
It isn’t that I try to act the prude
I don’t intend to play that role at all
I try not to be misconstrued
But age has dimmed my memory recall.
I vowed to keep a notebook in my pocket
To write in ideas and tales to tell,
A list of deeds I don’t want to forget,
To entertain my drinking pals as well.
Still the note pad is unopened, my deeds are small.
I confess to having nothing to confess to, after all.