afternoon beer

Many years ago, I was part of a survey team researching New Mexico quilts. The project was the brainchild of Dorothy Zopf, quilter and retired art teacher, who discovered that there was no data on an extremely important element in Hispanic New Mexican life: handmade quilts. The survey was conducted over several years, spread to Anglo quilts as well, and the result was Dorothy's book, Surviving the Winter. I was one of five women who helped with the research. My job was scribe and backup photographer and I loved toting notebook and compact 35mm camera on each trip.

Last evening Dorothy and I were invited to speak to an audience at the Taos Retirement Village Center about our adventures along the highways, byways and rural areas of NM. It had been snowing in Taos all day but I was able to navigate the roads into town from my perch in Des Montes at 7500 feet (Dorothy lives in the village and just walked over). The invitation prompted me to search through personal notes, photos, articles and poems I'd written at that time. A favorite experience was afternoon beer at The Rosebud Saloon in Mountainair. Although written long ago, it still resonates.

The Rosebud Saloon

Thursday afternoon
southwestern New Mexico
early summer beer
at the Rosebud Saloon
pool table fluorescent lights
guys in big hats at the bar.
I think about danger
something I read once
men and bars in afternoons
in remote towns. Here
it's only a TV rerun of
This Old House.

They take no notice
of five old girls who want to
carve their initials into the table
laughing in their beer
laughing with each other.

Maybe the sun's shining outside
maybe not, in the Rosebud Saloon
bright light illuminates fading hair
wrinkles, someone has arthritis
a guy at the bar tips his hat
red light blinks Budweiser's Best
and I wonder whose dream I'm in.