Bar Work, 6am.

I woke up hard,
From an erotic dream,
Victoria, a bar, sipped
Beer and stood;
That communicated,
Repeated,
Brush of stranger,
Half touch, hip rub.

She was chatting about
Keith Vaz being ejected,
From this place:
‘His type,’ she said.
And I was attracted
To that type of woman,
Back then: Older,
Late thirties, open.

That was the eighties,
When my physique
Was more tuned
Than my mind:
I had ordered a lager,
That dated my dream,
Being a bitter man
These days.
Single and on the pick-up;
She had a cruelty,
This stranger,
Attractive back then.

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