One in the Morning
Michael Arnold
You know
you’ve had enough.
It’s one in the morning,
the sensibles
have gone home
but there’s one
more place
you can try.
The bar
is in lock down,
but there’s a back
entrance
and what the hell
if you get raided;
he gets a fine
and you get warned,
or the other way round.
The beer is warm
the spirits expensive
and you wouldn’t
go there in the day
it’s such a pit.
You order a beer
and the barman
fills it short.
He looks at you
quizzically
and says I thought
you wanted
a topper.
You get it filled
and ask for a brandy
on the side.
A sister slinks
up to you, asks for
a drink
and spells out
the proposition.
It seems,
for a tenner
you can go home
with her, get a bath
and spend
a leisurely night
in her bed.
You politely refuse
which makes
her sweet mood
melt faster
than an ice cream
in the Sahara.
She calls you a
prick and picks out
a sweaty fat guy
who looks like
he’s got a tenner
to waste
and is not worried
about a months
‘clap’ appointments
after.
The place stinks
of sweat
and stale perfume;
so you have
a couple
more drinks
and go home.
Trying to remember
which is north
and if you
should follow
a star; any star, as
long as it improves your life.
©
Deep Insight 