When I used to frequent such establishments
I sat next to men in bars, who, upon taking
Your measure would fill the beer-sotted air
With wisdom that began and ended with
The weather, politics or your choice of sports
And the teams that played them

It was on a barstool that I learned to pull
My punches. To make loud pronouncements
About my most cherished beliefs only to those
Who would still be likely to talk to me
Tomorrow. With others I was a most agreeable sort,
“uh-huh” ing them to death until they gave
Up prying in exasperation.

Then there would be the wild man, the wild card,
The gent who would sit next to you, and being as
Phlegmatic as the wallpaper, order a beer in a pilsner
Glass and seem to nurture the one drink all night long

By the by, he might ask you your name, and garnering that
Bit of inside information, pour out his tortured soul in
Unbidden rushes like the spillways at the Hoover Dam.
“Ken,” he’d begin, his milquetoast deportment melting
With his swimming eyes. “Have you ever heard” or “did
You ever know” or “do you mind if I tell you something?”
To begin his Miller’s Tale.

Like Nick Carraway, thus did I become privy to the most sordid
Stories of men you wouldn’t look at twice. The affairs. The wife who
Was having one. The daughter who was pregnant at 16. The son
Who moved to Harlem and became a gang-banger. And there
Was always That Thing I Did, back in the day, ending with the coda
“Do you know what I’m saying?”

Well, partly. There were the secrets I possessed
Myself I never shared over a Budweiser. And I’ve
Known enough of humankind to have run into
Both the willfully guilty and the innocent they ravage
With their ham-fisted attempts at making do.

But a long time ago, my mother gave me sage advice
And that was to remember I had one mouth and two ears
And to know when it was time to close the one and open the two
And just bear witness to the passing parade without casting judgments
Or using the chalk of righteousness to draw conclusions.

Thus did I become an ear to the secrets of the wild men
Most of whom I’ve forgotten, and many of whom left
My life with just a handshake and the next round on the bar.

Worth it, I suppose, for a free beer, knowing these were not the men
I’d have to face tomorrow, those whose lurid secrets I already knew
But being a friend, never, ever revealed.

05/24/2013

Posted on 05/24/2013
Copyright © 2025 Ken Harnisch