If you stay until the end

If you stay until the end,

it will look something like this:

three young women standing,

waiting, poised in the moment

with the drawer all counted

and the tip jar divided,

the floor swept and mopped,

the trash taken out,

hands and feet are finally idling;

their eyes looking into the future,

an evening so much nearer than I had imagined.

If there’s a shadow at the door,

it is likely only a man in a gray beard

waiting for the last note of the last song

to be rung and the door finally opened

and shut one more time.

And then there will sound one last ringing bell,

really only a middling tinkling,

the door closing with a dull thunk.

I’m not really superstitious,

I have interrupted the music playing

countless heedless careless times before,

but as I passed by the church at the corner,

it seemed only fleeting minutes before

that I had just seen two little girls in pink jackets

rolling in the green grass like fallen leaves

blowing in the wind.

And then so quickly before my very eyes

the girls became young women

making coffee drinks and small talk

and breaking eggs for omelets

and hearts to go and then wiping

the counters with a damp rag.

And again in the blink of an eye,

the young woman I married

became nearly as old as the shadow

that I am becoming by the door.

So let ‘Yes’ sing the refrain one last time

‘ln and around the lake,

mountains come down and they stand there.’

So let the words become metaphors

and the metaphors become music.

Let the syrup bottles line up in rows

and the white plates stack up one on top of the other

and the pilot lights whisper:

‘Twenty-four before my love and I’ll be there with you.’

And so I stood there with my hand on the door,

waiting, watching, listening

for the end yet to come.

And now I must confess, I don’t really believe in reincarnation, either,

but if nonsense is more hopeful than common sense,

I might dilly-dally with my toes tapping a little inside my well-worn shoes

and pretend.

And then I might just remember what I always forget,

that the end is not the always the end, at least not yet.

There might still be three steps between me and the abyss

And tomorrow the iced tea might be once more as cold as ice

and the smiles and laughter reborn for one more tune -

and maybe the next. Who needs the lyrics when there’s dancing to do?

‘Yadadada da da da,

Yadadada da da da.’

I waited for the final chord

and stepped out and around the door.