Griggs' Bar and Grill

Griggs’ Bar and Grill In two more hours I’ll have to shower, shave and coffee-prop my lids and otherwise prepare for day. It’s 4 a.m. and now the barkeep, Griggs, is rushing me, the first to come, the last to leave, the lad who just an hour before was coaxed to quaff one more. At work I’ll cummerbund a smile, hold my head and sit all day, play another endless game of solitaire or tic-tac-toe. Griggs’ apron’s off. The neon’s out and now he’s off to set the locks in back. The spittle, butts and half-slain beers he’ll leave for Willie who’ll soon be here to dance his broom between the tables and the scattered chairs as smoothly as Kelly or Astaire. At 6 a.m., he’ll climb the ladder near the door and aim his broom through the transom toward the sky. Every morning, Willie puts another bullet through the eye of sunrise. Donal Mahoney