a late night drink

I find an open
bar
on Christmas eve.
it's late, past midnight.
the revelers have all gone home.
the wait staff is leaving,
laughing as they rush out
with cash in hand,
bottles of wine,
champagne. one drink
I say as the door almost
closes and gets locked.
the bartender
is a kind man
though and says sure,
just one
and pours me a tall one
over ice.
I find a stool and settle
in.
he tells me please
don't take out your phone.
talk to me he says,
elbows on the mahogany bar,
tell me the story
of your life
what brings you in here
on Christmas
night, alone and red
cheeked from the cold.
don't look at your phone,
or deep into the drink
I just poured,
talk to me.
okay, okay. I tell him.
join me.
and so we talk and talk
until there's nothing
left to say
that hasn't already
been said.
two stories. two men talking
about love won,
love lost.
getting old, getting back up
and doing it again.
it's Christmas eve and the bottle
is finally empty.
we're both sadly happy
and content. good night he
says and shows me to the door
as the snow
begins to fall. take care
he says.
I will, you too.