The Bar Interior

It must have been impressive,
luxurious, before smoke and age
reduced it to its present state of
gloomy melancholia,

only at night by the light from
the bar, filtered through regiments
of amber bottles, does the memory revive.

Fresh smoke covers the stale
and ample bottoms cover the tattered stools.
The center of attraction is solid mahogany,
burnished to a glow by a generation of
barkeepers' cloths, eager elbows and
the occasional drink-flushed face.

The floor, seldom seen, is carpeted,
a pattern long gone and the weave
worn thin beneath the stools.
There's a raised area, hardly a stage
but now, with live music a memory,
the only slow-dancers are tables and chairs.