Barfly 

 A good view of the to and fro-ing at the bar, 
staring at the orders given, 
weighing prospects for bacardi drinkers, 
divining meanings if he slips a short
before carrying the mixer down. 

Glass, half-full, mid-way on the counter
to the next empty spot. 
Take a nip,
check the door at frequent intervals,
though not the watch. 

The stool stays free, 
light up unassisted, 
eyes hazing in the smoke of Silkcut Purple,
idling with the beermat
I've already shred.