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They gathered at their table
in the corner of a spartan vault
beneath distillers’ speckled mirrors
advertising ageing malt.
They sat for hours supping ale,
laughing, licking pencil tips, and
in their cups compared complaints
they wiped off shaven, laboured lips;
until the bell called time and saw them
shuffle off to some hereafter,
still, in suits, and eulogised
in rounds and ribald laughter.
Great piece of work here and very nostaligic to the days of the 5 o'clock "Early Doors" where working men would pop into the vault of their local for a swift one (or two) after work then go home for their tea (yes I know some people will call it dinner), wash, shave, collar and tie then back to the Lounge before closing.
Andy, I checked out your Web: pedestrianpoems
You have some superb entries. Highway Coda (very clever) and I was so touched by Parapet to Pillared Aisle which is on the site.
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Travis Brow
Thu 26th Jun 2014 06:45
Hello Daniel, thanks again for your comments and observations. The poem is based on an amalgam of on old bloke I used to live with called Oswald Bromley, and his mates, and my dad and his mates who meet up in a pub in Manchester from time to time. And you're right; it's tea, NOT dinner.
Parapet to Pillared Aisle is one of my dad's poems. I'll pass on your comments - he'll be thrilled.