Emilio

Back then, in a small room - a party buzz

and I’m at the bar;

an ex-pat in foreign lands

who can’t understand the lingo.

Fizzy beer, thinking about

attachment theory and mountains,

with only a little pain.

I hear, again and again

‘Emilio’, ‘Emilio’, ‘Emilio!’

and, there, a Spanish barman,

overweight and sweaty,

moves with grace between

beer, coffee, spirit;

serving noisy people

in shirt and waistcoat, shiny shoes.

He focuses his everything on

coffee maker, steam,

beer spilling neatly in a jar,

sweets for kiddies,

clinking change, food orders,

knife and fork, cleaning glasses,

wipe the bar,

catching faces, voices

with a nodding eyeball glance.

Holding it all together!

A man on mission,

right on purpose, service, passion.

Next night, I return

to tune again into

his energy, humility.

But he’s gone

and a pang,

a longing for excellence,

awareness, warmth, pervades

even now.