I like sitting at bars.
If it is a restaurant with a bar
I even prefer eating at the bar.
I like the sound at the bar.
Clanging glasses, the sound of
jukebox and televisions
competing with a dozen conversations.
The laughter, the blatant lies,
the penny ante philosophies.
I do not like noise.
If I have to listen to noise
I prefer it to be singular.
it is musical.
I love the sounds of
Sitting at the bar is,
a symphony unto itself.
Conversations swirl around false bravado
as the ice and lime in my glass
swirl and become one.
Like these lives that sit
coming so close
People in bars
If you wait long enough,
If you are quiet enough,
you can hear it.
It will come to you
like a park squirrel
who is too familiar
with the free picnic handouts.
I close my eyes and listen.
Soon melody, cadence and theme
as I watch,
from my corner box seat.
He says, “I figure as long as you’re spending time with a woman without having sex, then that’s foreplay.”
“Foreplay” Nice title for a musical.
The two women sitting to his left shake their heads in disagreement. No.
Oh no no, that won’t do.
The man looks at me as if I’m part of this Off-Broadway-Production.
Why would he think that?
Can’t he see I’m a season ticket holder?
With box seats no less.
I return his look. I shrug my shoulders and arch my eyebrows and say,
“What can you do buddy? You didn’t get too far with that philosophy.”
Quickly my role as audience participator is over and I thankfully sit back in my seat
for the next act.
The two women, the older one, in particular, tell him,
“Hey give us a couple of squeezes, (she lifts her hand and squeezes her breast) then, you can nail us up against the wall.”
That is not what she wants.
I’ve never heard a woman say this is her idea of foreplay.
There’s no romance in a couple of desperate groping squeezes.
Strangers talking about secret things.
Dreams, hope and desires really.
The talk of foreplay leads to an introduction of names 20 minutes later.
I order another drink and watch the ice and lime swirl together.