My arrival by train to the lake bar
Is a little squared metal kiosk,
With several white tables on its terrace
It hosts me on red chairs under its wooden porch.
Spirited good mornings evenings and nights
Greet me with a smile and by my name,
All three locale tenders know my taste.
Served my usual immediately I am thrust
Into the animated conversations of habitués,
I observe their eyes the way the move their mouth
As they narrate, the trails of the day on their face
Their distinguishing features the expressions
All so unique and special all the same,
Devoured by emotions tormented by thoughts
Everyday struggles each has a story to be told.
The man had sweetness little round eyes,
Timid albeit always smiling he made jokes.
Everyone liked him and offered him drinks
Enticing him to swallow despite doctor’s orders
For he had a heart attack not long ago.
Today he is not around.
All three locale tenders whisper the news.
His mother sent his niece to wake him up this morning
He was late for work and would not answer her shouts,
The fourteen-year-old gently shook her beloved uncle
Only to be the first beholder of his cadaver.
He drunk himself to death yesterday at the bar,
Went to sleep and dreamt his last exhale.
[Featured painting: Old And Lonely In Cyprus 03 by Miki De Goodaboom]