Saturday, August 18, 2018

After Hours. by Mike Gallagher

Back to front, an exit sign
Throws up a bleary haze;
Soft colours seep through silhouettes,
And shadows cross green baize.
Downlighters at the bar
Cast a velvet sheen 
On cheeks of flawless beauty
(Through the eyes of Bacchus seen).
The Flowers of the Forest
Drift from a corner dim;
Sweethearts whisper nothings
Pump adrenalin.
Tables are refurbished 
With ashtrays of smoked glass
And the whiff of Sweetest Afton
Brings memories of the past.
This is the time for misspent age,
For tipsy eloquence,
When adults play at being kids

In furtive disobedience.

Mike Gallagher has been anthologised in many barrooms ... hic ... magazines around the world ... hic.

1 comment:

  1. I had the pleasure to share a bar counter with Mike recently and I hope to do so again before the month is out. Perhaps we may gaze together, if Bacchus is kind.


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