A Poem – to visit this place

a whiskey-sour waits with strong patience-
the wood floor, covered with booted footprints, didn’t ask permission to be
and the patrons themselves loved both the old floor and their friendly whiskey

forget calculated questions, they never matter much anyway, ask truly how the day went
and listen.
listen with bent heads and shaking of the hands for another day to break

it’s worth the while to visit this place
soon the whiskey-sour is empty and another is needed
want has nothing to do with it
and now the door opens itself to greet with the rest

elevated laughter sounds off,
a man is hitting at his leg, he is wearing blue jeans, dust explodes
his eyes are smiling- he stops at the hitting of his leg to finds his bottle of beer
the bottle is small in his hand

outside is becoming dark, though not dark enough
drinks are given and received while men and women trade secrets
the floor listens to them all, and collects each with normal curiosity

the whiskey-sour, no longer needs to be patient
tonight the chorus of life drinks heartily and happily
without hesitation, for hesitation breeds inability to act,
and to not act would be to not visit this place

-M. Taggart
copyright 2017