A little more bro-etry

I was recently introduced to the concept of 'bro-etry' - poetry that speaks to blokes (they being a subset of 'men'). Here's something on this theme:

More Goldwing than Commando?

Old bikers maybe,
whose black t-shirts,
though sporting only the holes they were born with,
and not oil-soaked (or worse)
announce a liking
for Alien and Heath Ledger’s Joker
mostly unobscured by pony-tails
and heavy-metal beards.

Between sips and pots,
they reminisce about pool leagues past,
tut-tut dismay
at ale-stains on relaid baize
despite signs saying ‘no drinks here please’.

The louder one asks me what I’m writing;
it turns out he likes poetry
(even if he pretends it’s only
‘the-boy-stood-on-the-burning-deck’ variety)
and talks of folk-rock,
obscure bands and great nights out
in punky local venues –
it makes sense Blondie was his jukebox choice,
but INXS doesn’t fit
and as for Nickelback,
less said the better.

Recording them in biro scribbles,
I watch another frame fly by –
I thought they must be good
as, denims crisply laundered,
they brought their own brass-threaded
ash-grained cues in cases,
and at a quid a game,
it must be expensive
once you’re good at pool.