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
