Bar Man

Chartering hope,

With chalk and checks.

Body stuck still

– in a cell,

Under a duvet,

Of dust specks.

 

Won over dark,

With a woop-a-woo.

Losing face

– to thoughts,

So hairy,

They break through.

 

Playing jazz,

With matchstick and heartbeat.

Soul trembling

– for the spirit,

Of fresh air,

He can’t reach.

 

Calling the warder,

With cry and query,

He says:

“Fella’ –

I am a bar man too!

Tell me, d’you drink,

As I do?”

 

Spits the warder,

With ringing laughter,

A tone, the Free

– appear to share,

“You’re just a poor old fool;

I’ll drink to your despair.”

 

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3 thoughts on “Bar Man

  1. Tarun Sibal says:

    Superb! Sensitive…. Love the way you paint his constriction and layer in the weight he feels of others’ outpourings 🙂

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