Short Public House Poems

Of the public house,
I know nothing;
nothing of the
chipped walls and
clambering jazz,
or the joy that
washes over
everything like a
spilled drink

..only that there is
a girl, perhaps a
thousand miles away,
sitting at the same
table, while I am
alone in a bar
watching August fade
into an empty cup...

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I was in a tawdry bar,
Or public house,
Being threatened,
For something I'd done.

Darting furiously
Through city streets,
Running, running, 
For something I'd done.

My companion hailed,
And stopped a bus,
Its metal doors flew open,
For something I'd done.

Had to get to them,
Had to get through them,
Under furious pursuance,
For something I'd done....

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