They were driving past the Long Shot.
She wondered out loud
what kind of a place is that and boy,
he thought, could he tell her.
He said nothing.
The Long Shot, well, it's a bar and
like Tolstoy's families there are happy
and unhappy bars. He started thinking,
not talking just thinking. Well, a happy
bar can open at 7 am or 11 am.
At 7 am the real working man shows up.
Shorts, work boots, long sleeve t's in
hot climates and jeans and vests in cold.
They didn't bring their work home last
night—no sir—and a beer could jump
start the day, make it a good one.
She was talking about something.
He wasn't listening, just thinking.
Not much after the early start.
It's 11am. This shift has the ex-military--
divorced or widowed,straight and
lonesome. One beer will start the day
and keep them there for quite awhile.
The bartender will mind her business
and it is hers—lord would you want
a man bartending at 11am? This is
mother, brother. Sprinkle in a few
retirees—even a coffee drinker-- and
the Long Shot will make it to noon.
In will come the guy who is painting
your house, building your fence, doing
your jobs around the house. He has
carry out from next door and wants
a beer and a little conversation. If not
in pairs they will be alone and read
the paper. Then the ladies come in.
Time for screwdrivers, bloodies,
fill the glass to the top. We want
full value and the wine is cheap.
They travel in pairs. All the time
Fox News is on. Golf, baseball
or sports news is on the other TV.
Somebody will call the President
an asshole who can't do shit. They've
been doing this for 20 years regardless
of who the asshole is. Don't be sensitive.
The military and retirees just left.
Their shift at the Elks is starting.
It's 4 pm and the pickups show up.
Happy hour. Beers are $2 and well
drinks are $2. No fruit, no umbrellas.
She was talking about something else
and he still wasn't listening just nodding
when the voice changed pitch.
Location. Ah, near a college.
Yes, well now it's 5 pm and time
For Car Bombs, Jaeger shots, and
the fancy beers—"give me a Stella."
The groups mix but mostly not.
The seats at the bar have permanent
owners. Someone will play the jukebox
but the TV with Fox News and sports
stays on all the time as background.
The Long Shot is a happy bar. Super Bowl
pools, snacks, decorations. It's home and
now it is slow as the crowd goes to eat.
Nights are for the lonely and a few loud
kids who soon learn about silence.Yes,
it is silent. Talk to the TV,talk to the games,
talk to the quiz show. Don't talk to your
neighbor until he talks to you. This is
their home not yours. Are you lucky?
They may learn your name and use it.
It will be worth the wait.
They pulled into the driveway.
She asked him why he was smiling.
Robert Halleck's work has appeared in over 40 poetry journals, magazine, and annuals in the last few years. Recently his poems have appeared or will appear in the San Diego Poetry Annual, The Paterson Literary Review, The St. Ann's Review, Third Wednesday, Chiron, and The Mockingheart Review. He is a member of San Diego's Not Dead Yet Poets and is a regular attendee of the Kenyon Review's Summer Workshops.
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Politics doesn't belong in bars, not "good" bars anyway, neither does golf. That's all I have to say.
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