with a drink in my hand
where the ***** clicked and rolled
from the stool that I manned
I looked out at the cold
to a place on the street
from the warmth of the bar
where the homeless compete
for a jaw at the jar
and their eyes seemed to say
as they stared me right back
it is not a long way
to our side of the track
that it takes very little
to fall on your ***
because people are brittle
and shatter like glass
like the windows at home
or the face of a watch
the screen on a phone
or this tumbler of scotch
from the tiniest chip
and the lightest of scratch
anybody can slip
when there’s no one to catch
I was left in no doubt
that the membrane was thin
between those who were out
and the ones who were in
so said ‘thanks for the tip
but for God could be I’
raised the glass to my lips
and averted my eye.