he tells a tale of life and love lost,
twice
to the same woman
and a third time to a second.
he still loves the one, but, doesn’t say
which one.
but I think I know, and they think they know, too.
they don’t, and neither do I.
another drink goes down and another story starts
and he finishes both quickly, neither meant much to him.
and another of each is there in an instant
both at my request.
his soul falls away, I see it in his eyes when he
speaks about this one.
about the day he almost died.
his lifeless eyes well up with tears
but, none break free.
he does not cry,
not tonight.
we close the place, go to his and have some drinks.
he has wine, I have whiskey. then we both have another.
and another.
I wish him luck and stand to leave.
he tells me to take my luck but that I’m welcome back
anytime.
but to bring the luck back with me,
one day
he might need it.