Le Select smells like sixty years of slow decisions
Plastic tables, harbor light through the ceiling fan
The boats outside are worth more than the bar is
But the bar has been here longer than the plan
François — white shirt, bad knee, silver tray —
Moves slow behind the counter like he owns the air
Came in when the cash register still spoke in francs
Sets the glasses upside down in a particular order
The way a man does when the job becomes the truth
She came off a boat that nobody recognized
White on white, no tan line, no name
Said "Bonsoir, François — Krug for everyone"
Like she was settling some private claim
François doesn't ask where the money goes
He's watched the whole Atlantic flow through here
Just wipes the bar where the Krug ring was
Doesn't even bother writing down what she owes
She touched no glass but her own through all of it
Left red lipstick on the rim of something French
A kid from Lyon kept saying merci like it might happen twice
Dropped two thousand euros by the ashtray — then
"Je reviens"
I tried to read something into the silence
"You think she's coming back for that?" I said
François looked at me the way a door looks at a key
That's been tried too many times — then shook his head
An old woman near the doorway stole three fries off my plate
Corrected my French without a hint of shame
François slid her coffee two inches closer
Like that, too, had always been arranged the same
The Krug stayed cold until the ice gave up
Fifteen strangers drank it, thanked nobody in particular
"Je reviens" means several different things
Depending on which way the boat is pointing when you say it
François doesn't ask where the money goes
He's watched the whole Atlantic flow through here
Just wipes the bar where the Krug ring was
Doesn't even bother writing down what she owes
There's a drawer below the register going back to '85
Full of corks, old tabs, and keys
One says "room 12," one says "forgive me"
One just says "please"
I asked him what her story was
François shrugged like doors closing soft
Said "Monsieur, if I knew every story
This place would not be old enough"
François doesn't ask where the money goes
He's watched the whole Atlantic flow through here
Just wipes the bar where the Krug ring was
Doesn't even bother writing down what she owes
François pinned nothing to the wall
The Krug gone, one flute left untouched
Old woman stole one last fry — said "Bonne nuit"
Gustavia going gold in what was left of the light