Barfly
I’m a barfly.
In bars I fly.
I slap tenners
On the wet
Bar top.
People stand clear
Waiting for me to flop.
But I don’t drop.
“Whiskey, double”,
“Erm Jamisons please”.
“Water?”
“NO” and “no bloody ice”
“You’ll kill it”.
“Unless it kills me first”
Wish I had a tab
Just in case.
I don’t fight.
I can.
But sometimes
I glare, at those
Those with ego’s
Bigger than their ability.
I lack civility.
I’m told.
As from my wad I unfold.
And money has turned into plastic.
I hate it.
And I hate waving more plastic
At more plastic which steals
My life of reality.
And an algorithm reads my life.
That’s strife and should burn.
As I stare around looking,
Waiting for something.
But there really is nothing.
I’d sing with the music,
But I can’t sing.
It all spins like a vicious ring
“Another double.”
“Water”?
“Ice”?
“NO”
That is a great plate!
The poem has a life of its own. I just let it wash over me, and now I’m standing at the doors to to the garden raising a glass of laphroaig. Cheers.
sláinte mate, appreciated.