Here at Marlin Monroe's beach bar where I came lonely along,
chasing the light and shadow,
there's a Christmas tree against the window, against the ocean blue,
covered white with lights.
Outside sea oats and palm fronds shimmer wildly
in windy torrents,
flinging razzled shadows against the salty light.
Tybee town folk waltz into the room donned in hoodies,
hugging the patrons on their way to stools at the bar,
three women settle there, three townswomen
self contained, self knowledgeable, order beers,
with their eye on the game, on the telly overhead
above the ocean yonder, through the swath of windows
wrapping the walls.
Michael Mooney on his guitar, swoons the room with music,
singing, "Sarah, smile"; pulling me along like sailing boats,
Along the shiny string of Christmas circling the regaled bar,
Astride the globes of reddish hue framing the ocean blue,
and sun slanting its long tentacles across the Sunday afternoon.
Don't know when I'll go home, when after malingering
through the second drink, after the sun retreats,
after I've written everything down,
after I talk to everyone,
after Micheal sings a Leon Redbone song,
after the numb onion of time
throws my soul into the pool
and night lays down its inky line.
