Bacchus

a knock on the hotel room door,
which I think odd, as
I know no one
in Montreal;
a thin man with drawn
face, he jabbers at me in French --
all Greek to me --
while pointing over my shoulder as
he speaks ...
When he tries to enter I pin him
between the door and jamb
and hold him there until
I hear the maid, in the hallway
say "he wants his beer."
And I let him go, watch
as he crosses the room
to the window, plucks two
bottles of beer from
behind the curtain
then leaves.