At the Corner of the Bar

Are you in pain
Mister big, bald man
With the giant goatee
And the Eagles green hoodie?

You are sitting at the bar
Trying to enjoy a draft and the game
And she is talking
More words per minute than can be counted.

She’s letting you know
How into the Flyers she is:
“They are skating around their asses,”
“The NHL refs truly suck.”

You are nodding your head
Showing the right amount of interest
Acknowledging her knowledge
Absorbing her energy.

I am amazed how you sat
Through the first period intermission
As she railed on all things education,
Teachers, technology, and middle school tykes.

Your savior is the bar’s owner.
He is a distraction for her
A willing participant
For her game of “Talk-a-lot.”

As the second period started
You refueled with some of her cheese sticks
While she stuck a third bottle in her Flyers coolie
And proceeded to guzzle with gusto

Then I realized
She is your life
Beer drinker, bar fixture
Philly fan, goatee stroking vixen

You want nothing more
Having continued the migration
From South Philly to Del. Co.,
And settling in a western suburb.

You have her
With the raspy voice,
The frenetic speech,
And the blind love of a Philly sports fan.

You love her enough
To tolerate chips and hummus,
But not enough to switch
From draft Yuengling to bottled Corona.

After all,
A man must retain some dignity by
Staying true
To at least one thread of his masculinity.

Two minutes into the second period
And you have settled into the game again
Your head is back to the programmed nodding
While she talks on and you stare at the big screen.

She’s your keeper, big bald man,
A woman created to be with you,
Don’t let her go, but please,
Could you get her to shut up…

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