Bar Beat Poem by Paul Brookes

White wine speaks from empty bottles,
sun, if there was any, never entered the bar.
philosopher me in my cups dispenses wisdom.
the bar cat blinks and struts her stuff
off to her ally searching for a better life.

the stools rotate like the clients
bottle count gets higher, we do too,
pigeons on stools, stool pigeons.

I laugh at my own wit.

shrill laughter from a woman, too loud,
after all the joke wasn't that funny,
then I realise I'm joke
more wine to ameliorate.

well so much for life
my rusty bed awaits,
dreaming of time for making love,
clutter is the essence of life
too many bottles and not enough time.