Tears Like Anchors

There is a man
who sits alone at the bar
late Monday nights
with a beer and a crossword,
he keeps to himself.
With tattoos seeped into his arms
and his legs
and his face
everyone lets him.

There is an anchor beneath one eye
like a tear drop
weighing him down.
There is a lotus
very pretty on his left temple,
a flower
beneath no garden of hair.

He taps his Vans on the wet floor
and his pen on his chin.
My grandfather
is the only other
I've known
to do the crossword in ink.

Across the bar
Pat tells me about his job in the city
and all the money he makes.
What youth and opportunity he has,
and a beach house,
I'm invited tomorrow afternoon.

By the door
Danielle watches with approval
and gives us our space.
And yet I wonder if Pat,
with his money and youth and beach house
is ever weighed down by tears like anchors
or brave enough
to put his words down
in ink.