by Richard Schnap
The black-walled dive
With the beer-stained rug
Is now a restaurant
Serving overpriced meals
And the famous club
Run by an ex-con
Is now a faceless bar
Like a hundred others
And the one with the bleachers
Overlooking the stage
Is now a dealership
Selling foreign cars
And my leather jacket
Is itself now a relic
Along with the noise
That became music.
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