After The Golden Thread Poem by Alistair Graham

Alan in a spill
in Lavery’s
after performance
poetry in golden thread; red
wine, like blood,
on the back of his hand
on bar counter
from the splash
of tumbling glass

We split a 70cl
and sip at first, while
young girls and lads
down shots behind us,
and shouts, later
outside the doors;
taxis stop and start,
pick up drop off;
a throw-up boy
bows to the bus stop

We grab a black cab
in Bradbury Place,
climb in through its jaws
take the long seat and sit,
stare out from its eyes
at the performance,
of passers-by

Out of town
and out of time,
Alan climbs out first,
later me
after three
pound tip for the trip
and a gaze through partition
to the back of a head
and a glance in the mirror
at the eyes

and a thought in my mind
of division and decades
of barricades; here is fine,
there you go,
it’s my second book,
I hope you like it,
good night