Man on a Barstool

Fire up that man’s cigar and pour that man a drink.
Give him, too, a barstool where a man can sit and think.
Greet him with sincerity, he’ll greet you with esteem,
treat him bad, be wary, for you’d wish he’d never been.

Give that man his time of day and give that man his say,
pour that man another drink or he may steal away.
Leave him to what he deserves, deserving he, what owed,
it’s been a long time coming, been a long and dusty road.

Give that man his corner where the judge is out of sight,
the jury in the shadows will leave him to his light.
Give that man his standing and allow him make his mark,
pay heed to what he has to say, don’t leave him in the dark.

And let him find his bearin’s for he has travelled far.
Place that man his compass on the counter of the bar.
Pour that man the best of hooch and he will signal, ‘when’
and when his glass is empty, well, pour the best again.

If it be, he’ll raise a cheer, whatever he may toast;
let him say in his own way, the words that matter most.
Let him be, as is his wont, his business is his own,
if found him in company or sups his hooch alone.

Leave him to his silence if it’s silence that he longs,
in the quiet of his thinking if that’s where he belongs.
And if it be well, let him weep, his whiskey tears to dry,
to drink away another day where memories come to cry.

Let him drift into a place, to find a state within,
to wind in his wishes when they come to succour him.
Give that man what he is due, and he will find his place.
Pour that man another dram and leave him in his peace.