The Last Drops

Years ago, we ignored

the old men who gathered
when there was a feast
or funeral
and regaled any who would listen
with their tales of war
and little conquests
back in the mountains.

Now, when we gather,
the old men are hard to find.
Two or three

hide in the corners
and still whisper
their old tales.

Some of us who know
ignore discussions of jobs,
BMWs, games

of golf, trips

back to Thailand

or Laos
and gravitate

to the corners
to drink

the last drops
of a mountain

spring
running
dry
.