The Old Bartender
Stepping out from Behind the Bar
His fingers are rough and calloused
As they grasp the glass cup
Crows feet dance around his eyes
Matching his skin that is like a paper
All crumpled up and hurriedly made straight
His feet shuffle along the linoleum floor
His back hunched over his work
His hands work in a rhythm
Knowing where they're going to go
Because they’ve poured the shot
Over a million times
His movements are deft and sure
His hands not shaking as he pours
Whiskey with a splash of bitters into the glass
Sliding it down to me across the wooden bar
3 feet of oak between us
Keeping his distance on the other side
His conversation is light and courteous
His voice rough and gravely from years of
Smoking Camels in the back room of the bar
All alone, after hours when the sky was charcoal grey
And the last customer had left the rail
Only when everyone has gone
Could he step out from behind the bar
The thick wood that protected him from the outside
Only when he was alone
Did he feel that he was truly free
About the Creator
Clare Strayer
I just want to make the world feel something✨ Leave a gift if you like what you feel✨
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