My beer and I watched them with amusement,
then admiration and
finally with something close to reverence.
First, I did my best to work with the “lines.”
Taking a few inches off the waistlines,
adding some lift to the bust-lines,
stemming the retreat of hairlines
filling-in the lines around eyes
still sparkling with passion,
I suddenly recognized the people
who manned the barricades
and rode the busses
four and five decades ago.
They are graying now,
for this is not the crowd who resorts
to artificial coloring of anything, including life.
The haunting melodies and acoustic
of Brewer and Shipley
evoked memories of La Cave with its
aromas of coffee and smoke of all flavors.
Michael and Tom sang of liberty
and the ghosts of La Cave sang along.
As I drained my beer it occurred to me
that no one in this country owns the
patent on patriotism.