things changed

before things changed,
a bar was a place where you could
go and talk,
meet people, make friends,
stir up a romance even,
if the planets aligned
and the stars
came out.
someone might write their
number and name
on the back of a match book
cover, or napkin
and say call me. kissing you
on the cheek before
they left.
there might be one tv
in the corner,
a black and white
tv with rabbit ears,
maybe a fight was on,
or a ball game, or nothing.
there was a grown man or
woman behind the bar
with a rag
wiping the counter clean,
filling up
your drink before
you asked for another.
they called you by
your first name.
there was a dish of nuts
every six feet.
ashtrays.
the music wasn't so loud
that you couldn't talk.
there was food, real food,
not squid chopped
into rubbery fried gaskets.
not hummus, or
olives.
there was no spinach
artichoke dip.
but things changed.
not for the good either,
I tell you.