Club Vabank

There's this place

by the street

where workers

go for drink.

I have thought

about going,

then I see

the piss stains

on the walls,

and I have

another think;

It's name is

Club Vabank,

and it's by

the tram stop

where many

men get off,

opposite

Rothschild's

Palace, 

in its red

brick façade.

It's always

full by three;

they're even

clients at

seven in 

the morning,

after the

factory,

on their shifts,

or between,

trying to

forget dreams,

aching,

trembling,

or puffing

on ciggies,

heads bobbing

or weaving

in and out 

of sleep.

Folks walk by

trying hard

not to breathe,

or stare at 

the moving

mortuary.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

You create place and interesting characters. I could see in vision, dirty location and last chance for desperate people. Powerful and worthwhile poetry. Thank you Maxwell for sharing the excellent poetry.
Coyote