David Wood (07 April 1950 / London)
Life in the Pub
Low cloud hugs damp close to the ground
Slurred speech from a beer cost only a pound
Smoke from cigarettes on the terraced street
Swirled and its odour hangs around the feet
Of those who indulge in that ludicrous sport,
And reflect, or ponder silently in a glass of port.
Of dark shadows as the dusk spreads wide
As drinkers spill on the pavement outside.
The sound of laughter mixed with music loud
Echoes from the lounge, or snug, made proud
And soft rain on the street spread with puddles,
Of those with brains in disintegrating muddles
Of too much drink.
The shadows of parlour pubs pervade the area
Of not outstanding national beauty, but drearier
Abodes in indifferent streets with modest cars
Parked outside married window blinds. Starved bars
With few punters coming and going into the mist
Of drink at the bottom of the glass, totally pissed,
Before staggering home to a nagging wife
Sums up the meagre story of their miserable life.
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