His entrance was the clicking of the ice cubes in his cup,
And as he stumbled forward tossing back his last sip up,
He lowered us a bow and rising forth produced a wink,
And beckoned t’ward the barkeep, that his tale would cost a drink.
He said “ I have a story
That I lived a life ago—
The floor I stand on’s boards were fresh,
The bar, now tarnished, glowed.
“But that was many years ago
And my planks too've grown weak,
And I could use some polish too
For I’m too tired to speak.”
His exit was the clinking of the ice cubes in his drink,
And turning us his back, he laid his cup down with a clink,
Then stagg’ring t’ward the front, he wiped the tear he’d turned to hide,
And leaned into the door and slipped into the dark outside.