The Bartender

Contributor: Anthony Keers

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We were all sitting around on the garden decking,
under thin and thick blankets,
under heaters that pump out dancing waves in the air
under the slowly waking stars above.

I sat on a deck chair
with a Winston Churchill classic in my hand.
Surrounded by friends and strangers.
Mingling
Drinking
like we all should do.

I looked around and saw my bartender standing
behind his homemade bar.
Shaking delicious poisons
in a plastic container
and pouring them into different glasses
for his guests to drink.

It was a party,
but the mood was split.
And I was lingering in the opposite half.
The conversations swayed in the liquid he poured,
from the laughter of old memories,
to the sadness of the departed.

My favorite bartender
was leaving.
A one of a kind who
never cheated by pouring
water when you wanted wine
And never forgot his locals
for the ladies who only drank a few then left.

But he had now finished our orders
And we gave our final tips.

My friend has left
to follow his road to the finish.
Although his path is different,
I’m sure we will meet up
to take a breather.

And another drink.


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