all me own work
Oh dear, pubs, you’re dying off one by one.
taking a hefty part of me with you.
My little nose pressed up at the window,
waiting for my Dad to bring out a lemonade.
Choking on me first half a lager, trying to
impress the local lads.
The rickety cigarette machine that still
owes me money
The old boy sitting under the dartboard.
Your gruelling, unmerciful stench of pale ale
Tobacco stained décor, and sordid
Gastropub then safely unconcieved,
But now menus are stuck under our noses
before we even get in the door.
The very thing that makes me stay home
by the fireside.
And trying to get served!
You always saw to your favourites first,
before they dropped off one by one.
Your era’s gone. The next time I see you, I’ll
be shopping and using the self service.
And as for you, tobacco, you were once
my permanent fixture, coughing on you
behind the playing fields. Trying to be worldly.
Blowing smoke rings on top of the bus.
Sometimes, you were my only friends.
There again, your prices stink, worse than the
lingering smoke on me Mum’s winter coat.
Once you were welcomed at the pub table,
and every living room going.
An ashtray, the most vital must-have.
Now, you have really lost your charm
No longer a glamorous prop, your bright
lights have truly dimmed.
You really have slipped through my nicotined
You’re now a part of my shadowed past,
I’ll have to look for new friends now,
Something else to make me complete, but
I will long to bump into the both of you again.