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An English pub’s a perfect place To sip an IPA. Its cozy vibes can warm you On a windy wintry day. I do not live in England But Manhattan’s where you’ll find Whatever type of restaurant Or bar you have in mind. And that is why I found myself Indulging in a draft Inside a quite convincing pub, With English servers staffed. My spouse and I both ordered pints With sausages and fries. (In London, they’d be “bangers” Served with “chips,” I would surmise). But still, it came just close enough That, with each frothy sip, We could pretend we’d crossed the pond To Britain, on a trip. Yet when we paid the bill, of course, There were no pounds or pence. A fantasy just goes so far And then it makes no sense. Reality has upsides, though, And here’s where this one led – A few blocks walk on New York streets And straight to my own bed!