Lock In

last orders!

those restricted 

to manmade 

time constraints 

scramble to the bar 

determined to down 

another 4 pints before 

they call it a night,

us lodgers don’t lift a finger 

we carry on nursing our drinks, 

we’ve gotta last the night 

........ right?

then the shots will fly, 

we’ll keep the bullets 

for another fight,

“Cowboy style, quick draw shit,”

moonshining 

the 

small

hours 

away 

99%

 

doors bolted 

curtains pulled

lights dimmed

locked in,

the last of us

are the best of us,

or so we’ve been told

with an excepting

pat on all our backs,

inebriation 

leads to a blur 

in conversation

but that’s OK

we mean every word,

until every word has

been forgotten

 

dead street theatres 

and failed actors

can be heard 

through the woodwork,

the ‘state of play’

outside the door

needs to be kept at bay,

right here is where we are,

there is no violent eruption 

only gentle discussion

about music and how much 

I detest The Beatles,

they’re so painfully overrated, 

this conversation 

gets the purists agitated, 

I don’t care!

She Loves You Yeah Yeah Yeah!

not!

 

how many rabbits 

are we going 

to shoot tonight?

none! 

I prefer to shoot the breeze,

“Good Ole London Town”

never lets me down,

it’s a beautiful cacophony,

a near fatality 

I won’t ever let die 

the familiarity 

in a wink of an eye,

this is my town

my city,

yarns and stories rich, 

brutal, 

beauty, 

devilish