The Devil At The Bar Poem by Niall ONeill

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.

Each flagon bore a strange label,
A girl fixed her lips in a glass on the wall,
A blind man leaning on the gable
Squeaked his clarinet toward nightfall.

The sailors who were not on deck,
Bartered scrawny parrots for little tender,
Or bald monkeys perched at their neck,
At the quay the boats bumped their fender.

The flat, slow moon rose in the sky
Making dogs and lunatics moan,
And the Devil, in a scarlet guernsey
Arrived, took account of his own.