Niall ONeill

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The drinks bloomed in the cut glass,
And the polished zinc was an altar,
I thought the patron had an honest face,
Though a cosh was behind the counter.
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Where nickel and glass mingle
in this bar where alcohol reigns,
behind the grid of your ten fingers,
poor fellow, you hide your pain.
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The multi-colored parrots bow and scrape,
Among the yews and cedars now in cone,
Disrupt the autumn evening with their jape
Along the stretch of petal-strewn lawn.
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