THE BELLMAN BAR
Three ghosts take to the stage,
Which isn´t really a stage at all,
Just the far end of the bar,
The Bellman Bar.
It is autumn
And the weather has turned cold.
I sit by the window
Looking out across Glogauer Strasse
There´s a draught.
The candle on the table flickers.
Over the next few hours it
Disappears into the holder.
A waitress replaces it.
She asks for a lighter.
I´m a non-smoker so
I take one from the next table.
The waitress lights the candle
And has placed another beer
In front of me
(even though I haven´t ordered one).
I like the Bellman Bar.
It is dark and cosy.
The lighting is provided mostly
By those disappearing candles.
The walls are scarred and potted,
But it has great character.
Thankfully they have not renovated.
It is perfect as it is.
Three ghosts and a drummer.
Two guitarists and a singer.
Dead cool but not ice cold.
Instead, there is warmth.
I am not the only one smiling.
The sound is jagged,
At all angles.
But it´s laid-back.
Despite the limitations
Of the primitive equipment,
And lack of rehearsal,
It is perfect!
The singer hardly moves.
His eyes appear darker in this light.
The musician to his left
Swaggers as if in slow motion.
A cigarette burns from his guitar.
The smoke spreads itself
Out into the room.
A shadowy figure moves behind me.
I thought for a minute it was Nikki.
On a night such as this you half-expect
him to come strolling in.
“A glass of port, please!”
In the far corner,
The guitar cases are piled high.
The drummer taps a jazz-like rhythm.
The guitars jangle and twang.
The singer has closed his eyes.
And I feel again
The draught from the window
To my left.
- Clive Product
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