We pull several of the small, steel-topped tables
\ntogether in a row, order our beers; and, while we
\nsit, making small talk, and waiting for the rest
\nof the guys to arrive, I wonder if we will sing.<\/p>\n
Some of the guys are new, so they won’t; My beer, a tall glass of dark draft, is inviting: The new guys are quietly smiling: they are I remember being new at one of these After Glows: But the beer gives us what it could not give Barbershoppers call a get-together after a show or practice an After Glow. (#942) Continue reading
\nbut we do have all four parts already, so
\nwe could burst into song at any moment:
\nMy Wild Irish Rose\u2014<\/em>something simple.<\/p>\n
\nbefore I sip, I feel like a kid about to open
\na candy bar at the summer camp canteen;
\nits foam head reminds me of malted milk.<\/p>\n
\nwaiting for the regulars to lead the conversation;
\nthis shyness comes of entering what they see,
\nwith some degree of reverence, as a tradition.<\/p>\n
\nI felt like a guy on a first date or a freshman
\nor a kid showing off his first bike, afraid of
\na skinned knee or some kind of false move.<\/p>\n
\nthe kid: soon, we are all talking about our
\nobservations, experiences, like normal people.
\nThese new guys are all right. But we didn’t sing.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"