Wine Bar in Worktown

 

I am sitting in the Worktown wine bar

Wondering if my wine is corked

Wondering whether to complain

Wondering if I can be bothered

Wondering why I can’t be bothered.

In other words just filling the afternoon

Wondering not doing.

 

The girl behind the counter busies herself.

She’s doing. She’s wiping tables, filling sugar bowls.

She’s re-arranging the trays of cakes and tarts.

She is not saying “I like my work”

She is saying “I take pride in my work.”

In other words she has a sense of purpose.

Doing not wondering.

 

Across the road near the library

A car draws into the disabled space.

A young woman in short skirt gets out.

Opening the rear doors she handles the ramp with practised ease

Pulling out a wheelchair in one smooth motion.

In the chair, head rolling, is a child of six or seven

Her arms conducting an imaginary orchestra.

They set off with purpose.

 

It’s just another rainy day in Worktown.

People get on with their lives.

Doing the things they have to do.

Should I take my wine back?

I’ve drunk most of it now.

I’m sitting in the Worktown wine bar.

Wondering not doing.

What a lucky bastard I am.