Porter House

“You’re very patient with me”, she said,
the most unnecessary line I ever heard.
She’d flashing eyes, fine blue, and wild
dark hair; not plain, and belle’s irrelevant,
but stands out in a crowd, so that
I would know her anywhere….

In the storeyed, alcoved, timbered,
coppered, storied, Porter House,
the home of Plain, and more
variety; and plenty, on the bone;
the craft of malt and hops and yeast
and water and, above all, life;

An artifice to hold our breath….
a place to share, to drink, to eat,
to talk, to live, make memories;
reflected, lit by northern,
western, summer light; which
lilted Megan made complete:

My waitress, whose voice was clear
amid the hubbub and the craic,
in our bubble, quietly calm;
Ah, Megan! as dark as I, but lighter eyed,
though young and free
and truly for herself alone;

In that moment, in her role,
our opposites aligned –
no server works without custom,
no client dines un-served –
reciprocals, we met just once,
a pop-up, in simple symbiosis.

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