The Bar-keeper
He doffs his hata relic, slightly battered
and he still trims
his moustache ~
thick and full,
a black hedge
edged with flecks
of snow.
He calls her
'm'amselle'
a parody from
old war films
but he doesn't
click his heels.
Even when
he is short staffed,
he is a dapper figure
a white apron,
mahogany bars
gleaming!
He loves a lady
and she loves a scoundrel,
her steps become more
flirtatious
and she sheds
thirty years
to the boy who loved her
and the man she let go.
These are memories
when her shoes
didn't pinch her so.
Poetry by Elle
Read 546 times
Written on 2009-02-08 at 17:25
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