#GreeneKingPubs
These pulling places are rammed
by limp cocks and hard-to-hear voices
by forty-year-old bent coppers
and pitch-hoarse salesmen
feasting on glimpses of wagged butts
and – if lucky – being eye-felt back
as unsteady rounds are re-summoned –
until each wooden table holds it own
glass city of empties and knock-backs
All until that briefly-sweet inebriation
sours outside under high sodium lights
to illuminate empty fists and nose bleeds
and stage two kisses between strangers
All until that night’s confusions have melted
into soft-edge recalls and squeezed regrets
over sinks and basins – until we go again