Beer Boys at The Cross Keys
money crams the table – chalk names filled to closing
so we moved next door
to The Jolly Trooper
where a crowd of old boys drank whisky and talked clod
over pickled eggs and ham
we thought the chatter would stop
but a worked hand ****** a glass deep into my palm
‘ere, aveadropuvthisun
amber smelling liquid
raised my lips in sour expectation
gone
fire from the hearth
autumn plums and American oak-soaked grape
sculpture a smile
it’s good **** good
a clap on the back and a glug in my glass
