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Brock Nights

We rolled into St. Catharines with a full car and a plan, Two younger brothers in the backseat trying hard to act like men. My cousin came along for laughs, said he’d keep us all in line— But limits weren’t a language any one of us could find. Pre-drinks at the house felt like the start of some campaign, Music humming through the bottles, shaking loose whatever remained. Then we drifted to the residence, a crowd already on the rise— Where the main-floor bar lay empty, waiting under dusty lights. Oh, we were young and loud and barely sane, Running wild through Brock in a sideways rain. Every room, every floor, every stair we claimed— He’d disappear laughing, slipping out of frame. And the night rolled forward like a runaway train… St. Catharines holding on to our names. Someone kicked a hole in drywall, left a crater in the scene, And the whole crew flowed downstairs like a half-remembered dream. A quiet kid with thick-rimmed glasses tried to take the night by storm, Did a keg stand, lost his balance—hit the ground before he warned. I stepped aside and let him tumble, wore his glasses like a crown, While my brothers watched in disbelief at the madness going down. Then came plates across the barroom as we shouted “opa!” proud, Ceramic stars exploding in the middle of the crowd. Oh, we were young and loud and barely sane, Running wild through Brock in a sideways rain. Every room, every floor, every stair we claimed— He’d disappear laughing, slipping out of frame. And the night rolled forward like a runaway train… St. Catharines holding on to our names. The chaos spilled to house parties where the music shook the beams, People pouring through the doorways like a river through a dream. He kept vanishing to corners, always chasing something new, From crowded rooms to colder air beneath a pickup’s moonlit view. My cousin tried to wrangle us, my brothers tried to stay upright, But that city had its own plans for the shape of that wild night. And every time we turned around, another moment took its claim— The kind you laugh at years later just for saying its name. Some nights carve themselves in memory, Some blur soft along the seams. But that one kept its colour Like a reel of fever dreams. And even now when life is quieter, A little more defined— That St. Catharines chaos Still flickers in my mind. Oh, we were young and loud and barely sane, Racing through our lives without a thought to tame. He kept vanishing into corners, Chasing sparks he couldn’t name— And somehow every moment still remembers his flame. Yeah, the night spun faster than a heart can claim… St. Catharines holding on to our names. Those were the days we learned ourselves, By losing ourselves along the way. And I still smile at the echo that lingers Of that St. Catharines day.