Traveling provides a wonderful opportunity for people watching and wondering what their lives are like. I just got home from a weeklong business trip, and I must say I'm glad to be home. In fact, home never looked so good.
I usually find an opportunity to write poems when I'm traveling. (Though not this time.) Here's one I wrote during one of my last vacation trips while sitting in a bar in Bilbau, Spain. I did a lot of wondering about the man sitting in the corner. I could barely take my eyes off of him.
The Man in the Bar
He sits at the corner table
He doesn’t drink
He looks straight ahead
Or at his lap as he smokes
His hand goes
To his mouth
Away from his mouth
Tick-tock
To his mouth
Away from his mouth
Tick-tock
A puff and then away
Then back
Tick-tock
A puff and then away
Then back.
Tick-tock
He gets up, pulls his shoulder bag
Across his body
He looks down, mutters to himself
His eyes rimmed with dark circles
Looks down,
His hand clutches his pack of ciggies
As he walks
Out of the bar
He returns a few minutes later
He sits in the same chair
In the same corner
Clutching a cigar in his hand
He takes the cigar
Out of the cellophane wrapper
And he begins again
Tick-tock
To his mouth
Away from his mouth
Tick-tock
He smokes
Until the cigar is gone
He gets up again
He put his bag
Over his shoulder
Clutching his pack of ciggies
And he is gone
Tick-tock.
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