I sat there
in the swirl of head,
beer foaming
elegantly like froth
from an ocean
churning motion,
soon to disappear-
another glass fill
of draft I would
tell the bar tenderess.
I told her that
beauty is a simple
diamond that shines
only when beckoned
to look at-
she smiled in the dim
bar-room lights,
not knowing exactly
what the hell I was
talking about,
and went about
her business.
I think I was hitting
on her,
and I think she thought
I would be luckier
hitting the floor
with drunkenness.

In walked a man
and sat in the stool
next over to me,
he was a charmer
to woman, I supposed
just because he
exposed flashiness.
I looked away
not wanting to
swell more pride-
I also learned
that we tend not
look at things
we cannot have,
and that eyes are
better left undone.
The man ordered
himself a bottle
of Corona with
a twist of lime,
and moved closer
to me asking if
anyone was sitting
at the stool next
to me.
I burped out a "yea,
Emily is sitting there."
Of course this was
the bar tenderess,
again she smiled
and this time she
spoke up "not quite,
still doing my job."

"But you will be here
soon after your shift, "
I added. She rolled
her eyes in acceptance
to the humor or
invitation, bouncing
deliciously away.

"Mr. Emmea, " he said
with an extended hand.

"Mama-mia, what kind
of name is that? "

"Italian, " he replied,
making a sour face
with a taste of his lime.

"Single? "

"As a line, hook and sinker
in the ocean, " I replied.

"I know the walk."

"Whoa, a looker like you?
Single! Horseshit! "

"I am, " he said rather
poignant.

"Are not"

"Am"

"Are not"

"Look, if I told you
the leaves are falling,
would you believe me? "
he asked testing.

I told him probably not,
and went to look out
the window.
The leaves were still
there stagnant and
attached to the branches.
Who am I kidding,
I told myself, it's
yet summer they're not
going anywhere yet.

"Death is like that, "
he said, "so young,
so shiny, so frail."
He told me true
answers usually
come in twos.
I told him that
can't be right,
cause I met
two woman today
and they both
walked away.
I thought he
was rather dark
and pessimistic,
and asked him
his first name,
he told me Luke.
Standing up from
his half-empty bottle
of Corona, with
the lime wedge
squeezed dry
to the bottom,
he walked out the bar.

Reminding me
of this one fella
I use to know
a few years back,
confident yet quiet,
tacky as a nail
who went by the name
Lou, his last name
Kemia that is.

The next day
an unusual strong wind
swept through
boisterously and unexpected,
shocked the weatherman
who shrugged it off as
30% chance of light drizzle-
overt umbrellas blown
from tight closed fists
tumbling and rolling
in Manhattan alleys,
true green leaves
stripped, knocked
out of summer.
Bare bark trees
staring back at me.