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Both bartenders have the same first name. Some nights I still miss Owen. The bar sounds like a Miami Vice episode. I never know what’s going to make that happen. The missing, I mean. There’s a different song playing back in the kitchen. I remember on our honeymoon: We ate in that Mexican place that had two radio stations on at the same time like an endurance test. Today one of the kids mentioned Rehoboth which is maybe how this started. Did I already say the thing about the bartenders? Two people with the same slightly old-fashioned name. Like the time machine couldn’t decide so it brought back both of them. “This is Charlie Hodge. He brings me my scarves and my water.” I’m paraphrasing.

Published in My poems Poetry Short Stories


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