Brian’sPoems

What You Find Out When You Say More Than Hi

Last summer,
while driving all over the place,
to grab handfuls of dirt and sand
in a vain attempt to understand my life,
I stopped at Three Dollar Dewey’s
on Commercial Street in Portland, Maine,
and had a beer with my friend Tim.

We sat in the back facing away
from the blinding light of the wharf.
The beer was cold and refreshing,
the barmaid cute and attentive,
and the old guy sitting across from us
someone you’d expect to meet in a port town.

I don’t recall the man’s name,
but I remember he looked rawhide tough.
Our conversation began rather easily,
as it often does after a pint or two.

Again, the exact details escape me,
but I think he’d been married twice,
fixed diesel boat engines,
and made a decent living
for which he had little to show.

I greatly appreciated his candor,
and I hope offered some of my own
before calling it quits after two beers
to continue my wild goose chase.