Wednesday, June 27, 2018

man at a bar

looking down the bar
                                                 at the slumped man….
                         at the hollow sockets clinging
                                               to the eyes
         you can feel the fatigue
                                                that lingers over each breath,
if you listen carefully you can hear it
                                           gently pleading for calm …for
     a little more energy …and a little more
it is not depression that slouches on the face of
                                                             this relic
                       just a deep consciousness
                                                                 that after three-quarters
of a century
                   spring has morphed from
                                             new lily-of-the-valley and iris and peonies
                            to endless sunsets,  protracted autumn
                                           and the inevitable anticipation of
  the winter of everafter
                            there is something perplexingly proud
                                                      in the miles of wrinkles
mapping his face
                                                  for having trekked those
                 mountains, valleys, rivers, trails and bridges
and with the occasional companion
                                                   who really “got”
                       who he is ….what he values….
                                                          what he dreams
               and what he fears….
                                             the piano-man
still plays long after the crowd has
                                                             clinging to one last riff
       knowing the silence
                                         will fill the room and both of their hearts
           and all of the why’s
                                     and the when’s and the how’s
                        will settle in the
sawdust on the floor
                              waiting for tomorrow’s dancers
              eagerly anticipating
                                                his next latest melody….
 and a new tune rises
                                from the keyboard

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