The man at the end of the bar
Stops by here every night
Just around eight o’clock
Give or take a few minutes
Orders a scotch on the rocks or two
Twist of lemon rind
Not too much ice in it
I’ve tried to make his acquaintance
Small chit-chat, you know
As I do with the other customers
So many come and go
But he’s not so much of a talker
Just keeps to himself while he drinks
Correct me if I’m wrong
Or if you think I’m mistaken
But he seems to be watching everybody
Listening to conversations
Keeping one eye on the people
And one on the ice in his glass
Probably my mind playing tricks
Making the time pass
Telling me things that ain’t really there
Concerns that radiate nothing
Worries that don’t hold their weight in whiskey
I guess someday we’ll see
Two drinks and then he is leaving
His money floats up to the ceiling
Fifty cents left on the bar
Dropped in a tall tip jar
Like I always say
Dread feeds a quick imagination
Leaves you to wonder the worse
In every situation

TM DiSarro

©2024 TM DiSarro / MindScapes Publishing

From: POKING HOLES IN THE DARKNESS