BONUS SONNET: A Hermit, Humbled

Blood drives have set my social calendar

For too long now, I see, as my worst friend,

Who no longer runs Cheyenne's events -- er...

No longer makes the standard call whose end

Is tapping me, for which the dear still thinks

He needs to ply me with a fun night out

Of catching up, bar trivia and drinks.

He knows better, of course, but now without

That fall-back we have let a month go by.

Today I noticed this and felt bad, so

A bowling night has drawn me out. Now I

Sit in the alley drinking with comrades

And humbled. They forgive me these, my bads.

Beer for Dinner, Or How I Went Out with My Worst Friend but Still Wrote a Sonnet

It's Thursday evening in this little town,
And there might not seem to be much to do,
But, thanks to Kevin, I've no cause to frown.
I watch him bowl and cheer until I'm blue
(Of face, that is) and there's an added plus:
His bowling league includes a small side game,
A weirdo form of bingo that works thus
(And if it doesn't, I don't take the blame):
A bingo space gets daubed if there's a match
Between its number and a bowler's score.
That they must hit these numbers is the catch.
If they don't, then I just laugh and drink some more.
Although betimes they do call my attention
To an error, in ink or comprehension.