Joe laughs, but is haunted by an old flame’s specter.
Anthony finds no comfort in bars, he just locks his door.
Andrew once played tennis like Boris Becker.
Bill almost married and now he’s nothing but a bore.
John caught mono and now listens to the wood pecker.
Sam, after a round, would even battle a boar.
Joe, ever so haunted, is a lonely, simple tax collector.
Sam no longer likes his bed, but instead prefers the floor.
John, in comparison, is only slightly better.
Anthony, alone in his locked door, is into fables about fishing lore.
Bill sees a shrink every week; his mind needs a new batter.
Andrew gave his rackets away; he only had ten to four.
The siblings, looking for a house, would like to see their wallets get fatter.
And Sam, searching for a boar after another round, is completely torn.

I got nothing