2-16-97 sitting at the bar with Frank


Another rare moment
My quiet has been dealt many glancing blows
My post firm, other seats empty
Even the old senoras put on their furs and waddle out the door

Comfort in a cup of coffee and well traveled bartender
Who is my ears and gives me paper
I sit in my one star apparel in a four star bar
Writing out of gratitude for my crowded solitude
He, who I don’t know, has a grasp of my few pleasures
Our age gives us a choice to have quiet smiles
Time moves as time does and this is a fact we accept

The piano, once full of bullshit, is now sad and minor
How happy that makes me
I think of Garcia Lorca and Kafka
One had a home here but both were not at home
Their bones rattle quietly behind their words
Mortal, too much so, God bless them
They lived through their own personal ice age
And died young

I look across the bar and bid him farewell
And Spain swallows me whole once again.