Muse's Advisory, June 17 – Thalia, cont.:
Miriam shoots Yusuf a terrified look
and dashes out
into the swelling crowd herself.
He tries to stop her
but the raucous mob's too thick.
Up runs Muhammad
with a crudely bandaged
hand and head,
a broad grin fattening his beard.
“I
did it, man!”
he cries and slaps his buddy's back.
“This drink's on me, yes? Yes!”
Crestfallen, Yusuf trails him
back into the bar.
The owner nods from the back room:
the barmaid bypasses
the usual Gold Star,
pours Tabor to the brim
for them to toast:
"Another victory! To Palestinians!"
The jubilation's so contagious,
Yusuf half forgets
he's been rejected;
then he shrugs and thinks,
"Let liquor do its job."
No one goes back to work.
The bar fills up, high spirits multiplying.
Every couple minutes
some new messenger bursts in and cries,
"They shot him dead up by the Margaret!"
"He's gotten clean away! The
mishteret have given up!"
"The cops were just about to nab the Greek,
when this half-naked henchman
sprang right out of nowhere with a club
and knocked the Jew swine off their feet!"
Back to the Gold Star, unfortunately.
Then no more wine at all,
as Yusuf and Muhammad's wallets
both grow bare of
sheqalim.The euphoria tatters,
and night, so ignorant of victories,
undresses just as quietly as ever.
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