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[SwizzleStick]

Here is a little poem i wrote while reflecting on a bar I work at part-time...


Title: Pour, Collins, Cubed Ice...


“Oh my God, she didn’t?”

“You know Tom’s going to be fired in the morning….”

“How the helllll are you are doing?”

Five-thirty sharp, and this is my orchestra -- filing in and tuning itself for another performance of “Ode to Alcohol number 151.”

We have Sissy on symbols with her high pitched yack, yack - this - and her yack, yack – that.

The ever so suave Michael (oops, I’m sorry, Miguel) on sax with his never-ending rhythm of smooth one liners and endless stories of yesterday’s romance.

Lets not forget Darrin on drums, with his ratta-tap-tap, always trying to steal someone’s thunder with the all too predictable, “Yeah, I’ve done that.”

And me, well, I’m the stagehand, usher, concertmaster and conductor of sorts.

I dim the lights as the string section takes its cue - strutting by in their 4-inch heels, and platinum blonde hair (or at least that’s what it’s called on the box).

The brass section: Big Al, Mow and Jake provide effects with their lit cigars cascading smoke over their baritone bellies as they bellow out dirty limericks, innuendo, and a scent that is yet to be fully appreciated.

Ahh, the percussion section. Small in number they may be, but masterful at the art are they. In the instant of their snare drum roll across the dance floor they command the undivided attention of the entire room. And even the envy of more than one French horn.

As stagehand and usher I have prepared the concert hall well. Spotless are the bollas, rocks, highballs and yes, even cocktails. The ruby red maraschinos sit in anxious delight. While lime wedges and lemon twists tucked side-by-side as celery stalks beacon the call of Bloody Mary’s all night.

The audience? Well, they too are sporting their finest, complete with silver top hats as Weller and Jack Daniels awake from their nap.

I lift my baton and give it a shake followed by a tap tap tap as I strain yet another liquid concoction from my bartender’s chemistry set.

Those who entered in one’s… now leave in two’s and sometimes threes with nothing more than an intoxicated smile and an “Excuse me barkeep, would you cash me out as quick as you please.”

Brian Bates

[Guest]

Thanks for posting your poem, SwizzleStick! It gives a whole new perspective on the bar scene for me - but I still have to ask, is being a bartender as glamourous as it seems?