Saturday Night at JTs

I first posted this poem on Ring Around the Basin in May, but today, it refers back to last Monday's story about the Basque Picnic in Minden, NV

Noise splits the eardrums

But it's as robust like the food

Lamb chops with juice that lays upon lips

Washed away with wine in a whiskey glass

No self-respecting Basque would hold a stem

Stews so rich only a bite or two will do

Waitresses waltz among patrons who join

A birthday song at the other end of the room

Then everyone cheers when it's over

And resume telling their stories

Etienne tends bar as family tradition dictates

Marie-Louise knows every Basque in town

Where she grew to fine womanhood

In two rooms on the second floor

She rode her trike around the tables

While Sheriff Stone held court at the bar

Pointing toward the border for any tourist

Concerned for little Marie's well-being

Saturday night forms a line out the door

Old friends and new mingle under dollar

Bills tacked to the ceiling to pay tabs

Stetsons line the walls, dates marked

With the passing of their owners

These habits are as old as the town

When shepherds rested with compadres

Tipping picons to ease their loneliness

A drink carefully taught as a legacy

In a town dragging through changes

Where even strangers feel at home.