Donal Mahoney- A Poem

 

Griggs' Bar and Grill

In two more hours I'll have to shower,

shave and coffee-prop my lids

and otherwise prepare for day. It's 4 a.m.

and now the barkeep, Griggs,

is rushing me, the first 

to come, the last to leave, 

the lad who just an hour before

was coaxed to quaff one more.

At work I'll cummerbund a smile,

hold my head and sit all day,

play another endless game

of solitaire or tic-tac-toe. 

Griggs' apron's off. The neon's out

and now he'll set the locks in back.

The spittle, butts and half-slain beers

he'll leave for Willie who'll soon be here

to dance his broom between

the tables and the scattered chairs

as smoothly as Kelly or Astaire.

At 6 a.m., he'll climb the ladder 

near the door and aim his broom

through the transom toward the sky.

Each morning Willie puts another 

bullet through the eye of sunrise.

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Donal Mahoney quit drinking many years ago as a preface to marriage. Today he doesn't miss the liquor, but he does miss the people he would see late at night while sitting at the end of the bar. At times, even when he was sober, the later it got, the more the whole scene seemed like a ballet, despite the raucous music from the juke box.