A Bar in Santa Cruz
The bartender slaps my glass
and change on the counter
as in anger, making me wonder
what I did, then I realize it is
a need to put rhythm in his work.
Children drop by the bar
on their way home from school,
stretch a hand up to receive
a small glass of water.
One guy on the stool
next to mine complains
the trouble with democracy
is that you can’t get any hard-
core movies, only soft core.
He thought that after the death
of Franco he would be able
to see it all.
Two dogs sniff and circle,
mount and tumble,
in the small space the men
clear for them.
In Asturias
At the local bar a man cuts
my hair for free as a woman pours
a sparkling cider from a bottle
she holds above her head
into a wide-mouthed glass
positioned below her waist
to escanciar the drink —
this is called friendship,
these are neighbors, they like
each other and welcome
strangers. Here we find
a small pocket of people,
call them human beings,
who care about such things.