The Pub
![](https://primary.jwwb.nl/public/t/o/f/temp-nwlozssofgoarekoomxf/x492yw/image-13.png?enable-io=true&enable=upscale&crop=666%2C424%2Cx0%2Cy30%2Csafe&width=439&height=279)
The Pub
Run the smokers' gauntlet doorstep
Blasted hot air open portal
Navigate a less dense scrum
The patient wait, the pint to come
The hand pump oozes air and froth
To change the barrel he heads off
All transactions somewhat halted
Pint of Rowton, ready salted
Barman, smart assesses you
shirted, tied and no tattoos
Pulls the pint, avoids eye contact,
hands the change to end the contract
The hum and throb of Friday's public
Crescendos, fades, the banter club
Straining duke box Boy George Karma
YMCA a village drama
Tight knit groups of friends and locals
The stranger navigates the pitfalls
The hidden rules of who sits where
Tries not to look conspicuous here
Sepia photos, posidriven
Glanced at, might as well be hidden
Pastel walls, fake wooden floor
Safety glass in every door.
Tiffany lamps with dull brass fittings
Cast iron tables, pews for sitting
Roman numerated clock
A waiting room where no trains stop
Plates with springed wire wall mount hangers
Juxtapose white Wharfedale speakers
Pewter four faux candled lighting
Smoke detector green light flashing
The flat screen huge in pride of place
Hangs up above the fire place
For once a blank and silent screen
Where once a mirror would have been
Crisp and nut pack table litter
Amidst the wine and coke and bitter
Mostly men with half full pints
Mostly women ice and slice
Phones flashed and checked, no bloody signal
Moans about the network dismal
Photos shared, a private joke
Into a pub there walks this bloke
Seated near refurbished dart board
The player focused on her next throw
The stranger reads oblivious
Sociometric isolate
Another night, another pint
The jukebox soundtrack permanent
But drink up now has perfect timing
Hi ho bloody silver lining
GMJ October 2016