In Barcelona,
I sat at the corner of a bar
observing the dread locked boy bartender at his craft.
He slid the pulpy flesh of the lemon against the martini
glass around the rim so agile and delicate
and then slowly down the side of the glass to the stem as
if he was caressing a woman's body.
Each movement behind the bar was a dance, fluid,
unhindered and indifferent.
Without eye contact he continued to make love to each drink he prepared.
A slight glimmer lilts off the corner of his controlled mouth as he placed the magical concoction in front of the pretty placid patron.
As the young women ignores him, her thin bird like mouth pecks at this labored libation.
An effort seemingly wasted on her juvenile lips.
He has artistically created a delectable aphrodisiac for her senses and she strikes at it.
His face reveals his wonderment, is this the moment?
He hopes quietly as he holds his breath.....
... another evening he goes unnoticed, not seen or even acknowledged.
The bar owner aware of the non interaction heaves a guttural weary sigh,
tired of entertaining the women of pursed stringent mouths
and their lack of interest of his gifted bartender
he places the bill in front of her to hopefully whisk her far far away.
September 2013
