in a Leamington Spa pub

she sat alone

alone with some bloke

loading the table

and her

with shorts

 

he’ll recoup that investment later

 

wearing badly fitting jeans

bloke slouched to the pissoir

 

she glanced at me

as she downed a glass

 

being a sociable guy

cursed with empathy

I asked her quickly,

 

‘tell me, are you really happy?’

 

bloke swaggered back,

a tell-tale damp smudge

inches zip-side,

 

‘I don’t know what happiness is.’

 

 

 

© coolhermit 2020
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critique and comments welcome.
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Guaj

This is a picture in sepia of happiness lost in the desperation to be loved. The story I would like to know was how it all vaporised for her, but this is information that can only be guessed which, as I recall, you demonstrated in an earlier poem. Nevertheless, this is another gem IMHO.

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