THE PUBS GONE

all-weather speakers would play classic metal

and

we’d shout BOAT at slow tankers

magritte large

riding high on grey thames

and

we’d steal bar stools made from beer barrels

pry up all the cats eyes out the car park

and

there’d be 11 o clock whip-round for rip-off machine fags

and

clean-hair weekend-rockers wear wife-hemmed jeans

would arrive at 6 and sip slow dull ales

and

we’d clatter and tilt the pinball

line up fifty pee’s on the pool

barman pouring shots and popping brown bottles

at a wave and a nod

and

later

we’d lose and find and smoke hash blims on derelict jetties

and

the open fire would crackle at winter lunch times

smoky day-lit ashtray tables would pile with pint glasses

with the new white euro pint line

and

we’d use the pay phone on the bar for friends and drugs and cabs

fumbling the coins in when they answer

but

new orange flats grew up fast from industry wasteland

and

all the bikers moved down river

denim regulars fell out with gay rumours

and

the fireplace was blocked in

and

canteen tables bolted down in squares

and

all the bar brass ripped out

and

a papier-mâché castle appeared in the dart board corner

for djs ticketed nights

and

no

one

went anymore

pubhistory.com