Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

Bartender

Whirring, the blender
bumps and grinds
ice with vodka and schnapps
while the bartender flings
things, squeezes taps, and stirs,
letting only the clinks
speak with people around the bar
who watch him measure
nothing, except with his sixth sense.
And I, as always,
check my watch to see
if he'll beat his earlier record
of speed,
then I sip my iced tea.

My folly: Checking how fast anyone does anything.

Prompt: Personal folly