One of the Regulars

Husband and pub could manage themselves;
she came and sat his side of the bar,

her plump comfortableness spilling over
like a sack of flour on the stool.

Of course he’d love to hear about their holiday,
super trips to stately homes,

other people’s impressive gardens.

“So you enjoyed your…er…
sojourn…is that the right word?”
Clipped, but like his hair,
not too severe, though neat.
“…They had trees I’d never heard of…”
Sociability cost her nothing,
and it was good for business.

“…Must have been a sort of arboretum…”
His delivery smooth like his pressed flannels,
polished like his blazer-buttons,
a sociability that cost him
a ploughman’s and a pint every day;
aye, and the rest, he mused, in the gents:
who did he have to go on holiday with?

Still, in the moment of truth that
wafted up daily from his cupped hands,
he could always say to the next man,
“All men are equal in the bog.”
Such bonhomie would surely see him through.

.

Reviews

[Abhishek Izy]

A very interesting insight. I appreciate the way you went into a tiny moment and how is imploded inside you to bring out this work.

[Gerald Parker]

Many thanks for stopping by and liking this poem.

[Abhishek Izy]

You're welcome my friend!