Business Hours

A local restaurant one evening, phones still stationary,
not yet clever and unleashing the plague –
selfies.
He came in late, sat in the corner, alone.
There were several furtive glances,
then an almost Mexican wave –
a ripple of nods of agreement and eye contact –
yes, it was ….. Billy Connolly.
It took a while … then a patron found courage –
approached him, taking a napkin or menu to autograph.
No problem. A smile, a few words and a handshake.
The single drip became a trickle,
then flow,
then torrent.

The wait staff intervened,
but the star waved them away.
talking to all who wanted to talk –
the night grew late and food cold …
……. until no more.

Time,
generous and patient,
someone remembering before fame,
who had not forgotten
draughty provincial halls, budget hotels, cheap motels
and camper vans.
Being undercard and captive to agents,
and two or three shows a day, everyday
contracts drawing blushes from Shylock.
Or those passed on the way up,
the ones lacking talent or luck – faded pasts
leaving him to continue, lonelier
and
courteous with his current status
not curt with the encroachment upon it.