Flo’s Domain

 

The Aviation Bar

A shithole

Unloved by the management

The dirty secret

Of a plush hotel complex

On the outskirts of town

Stuck in the nineteen forties

Leather barstools and oak panels

Cream quarry tiles adorned the floor

How much ale had they seen

Spilt and mopped up over the decades

This was Flo’s domain

 

Flo was well into her eighties

Rumour had it

That the hotel had taken her on

Temporarily

As a teenager

During the First World War

Now she was part of the fixtures and fittings

She never took a day off

From the Aviation Bar

This was Flo’s domain

 

On Fridays and Saturdays

Her kid sister Ethel helped out

Ethel was a mere whippersnapper

A sprightly eighty-two year-old

Flo kept her in her place

Fearing that she may be

Usurped by the young upstart

That was never going to happen

Not here

Not in the aviation bar

This is Flo’s domain