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Drinking hole alternatives in this shit hole society

Posted on Apr 5, 2017 in Poems

Drinking hole alternatives in this shit hole society

Round the corner from Gazza Strip
where the ring tones wring out placid silence
and the chrome-domed fittings are coated in violence,
there is a place where pipes preside.
Not the type you manufacture,
like a blue Blue Peter construction,
from tubes and breakfast wreckage, NO.
They puff like steamers, require pipe cleaners,
and are handled by noble folk, some possess beards,
I don’t deny that, but the ambiance is of Railway Children,
runaway profits, and rank outsiders.
It’s a traditional place, boasts a smell not unlike a failing zoo:
Lizards are loved, but unkempt, the elephants shit all over the place, without regret, and hippos wallow in broken-locked-loos.
You can hear yourself dream, and the jukebox is old:
Old with Stones and crawling with Beatles.
Tonight there is a quiz – in the pub – a pub quiz.
I do not enter, as I’m thick as a hangman’s rope,
And I’d prefer to die (intellectually) at the hand of a poet, or a lovelorn moose.

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