John Grey

Australian born poet, playwright, musician. Latest book is "What Else Is There" from Main Street Rag. Recently in Hubbub, South Carolina Review and Journal Of The American Medical Association.

THE BIRD ON THE BAR

So why did I stay in that bar

long past midnight.

It wasn't the beer.

It wasn't my lover declaring

I had made her

the saddest woman in the world.

It was this creature on the bar,

one of those birds

that dip into a drinking glass

and out again,

a crane, genus "endless fascination".

I puzzled over, then ultimately rejoiced in

its subtle mechanics

while real people went about their business

unnoticed, unremarked.

It was as if that bird

was drawing a curtain across

all other lives

with each bob of its head,

each gobful of liquid.

Nothing like ritual

to rescue a man from living.

All night long,

the bird's head, my head,

nodded in agreement.