JOHN’S BAR

Across the river,
Philadelphia; nearer, the bridge
Crossing the river.

After 3 days, she said
“I need some room…
I have things I need to do,
Personal things…closures.”
Uh…I understand…take time.
Whatever the outcome…do it right.
Call me…or I’ll call you;
A couple-a-days.

In the shadow of the bridge,
North Camden,
John’s Bar,
An old special place from my late youth.
Camden bars were unique;
No stools…men and boys only…standing;
Women and couples in a separate room.

John, the owner/ grizzled bartender;
Almost a Jesuit priest once;
Came around the bar…man-hugged me,
Held me…kissed my cheek.
I’m home from the war, Johnny Moore,
Rhyming…I said.

“Thank God you’re home safe…
You and Miles were like my sons.”
That word again.
Miles is gone…Billy too….others
Home Johnny…maybe safe, I said.

I saw her 2 days later.
All finished ? I asked.
“Done” she said, her face flushed.
Are we OK…?