| The El Royal Restaurant, Bar & Club, located on | | | | An old pool table with balls to rack |
| old Highway 20 in Pryor, Oklahoma, reminded me so | | | | The crowd is gathering late |
| much of some of the clubs on Guam. I was in the | | | | The tables spread with linen cloths |
| Navy during the Viet Nam War and saw the B52's | | | | A candle burns, it's flame so soft |
| leave Anderson Air Force Base and fly over the | | | | A war forgotten it's horrors scoffed |
| Naval Communications Station in the mornings and | | | | The time in essence is lost |
| return late in the evening while we were watching an | | | | A salted rimmed margarita glass |
| outdoor movie. | | | | A lemon slice, not much to ask |
| Entering the club from the parking lot, the bar was | | | | A picture of the Sooners past |
| on the right with a small dance floor on the left with | | | | The time slips by so fast |
| a jukebox and large TV. There are a couple of pool | | | | A menu filled with Chinese food |
| tables in the back with pictures of the Oklahoma | | | | Another drink to set the mood |
| Sooners spaced around the walls. | | | | A floor show rocking on the floor |
| The atmosphere in the small club appeared fitting so | | | | The crowd is grooving too |
| I put it all together in the following poem. | | | | Our bombers labor with fuel and bombs |
| The Enlisted Men's Club | | | | The laughter drowns ongoing sobs |
| A weathered sagging wooden door | | | | Each candle's flicker, a life snuffed out |
| A tattered carpet on the floor | | | | But the steak is good on Guam |
| The bartender busy with the crowd | | | | The shuffle board is smooth as silk |
| A waitress doing chores | | | | A 'White Russian' is not just milk |
| Some tables and chairs a TV set | | | | The crowd is thinning, the heroes shout |
| The jukebox playing a memory yethe lights so low, | | | | Then the moment shifts to gilt |
| dim shadows cast | | | | The words de-fanged, the evening is gone |
| A girl you haven't met | | | | The girls show the heroes home |
| The charcoal smell of burning steaks | | | | The night is boned. |
| The crispness of a salad made | | | | |