Bones

Eventually they all reached the same age, DEAD

and slid off their barstools into the dust.

It was a time when you couldn’t tell age or sex by what they wore.

Dancing was a long lost art. People shuffled from side to side and stared at the ceiling.

Everybody no matter what their preference listened to rock music

at a volume that make conversation impossible.

Contact was primeval at best and induced by binding sex organs in brightly coloured cloth.

The threads of which had long since faded and nondescript garments hung loosely on their bones.

The most sought after of the woman would turn in their graves, if they had one.

To see that their skeletal remains were no more comely than those of the quiet people

who returned night after night to their solitary beer.

None of that matters now.

It seems a pity though that their lives were so greatly affected by physical features.

Now we can only guess who was who in the pecking order

that so dominated their existence.