Miners' Thirst By Gail Constable

If you looked closely 

Through dirty windows,

Sooted from the mine's

Coal piles, you could

See a scarred wooden

Table, chairs askew,

A long oak bar ran

Down one side, top

Stained with circles,

Metal rail for weary

Feet as grimy hands of

Working men grasped

Their pints, in one

Corner sat the company

Man who settled 

Accounts, doled out

Pence left, the wooden

Sign over the door

Announced the pub 

Though few could read

It, in the alley behind

The union organizer

Gave the signal, torches

Were lit, tossed through

The back door, spilled

Liquor burns, workers

Ran, it is all gone now

Yet if you listen very

Carefully in the wind,

You can hear the clink

Of coins, laughter

Drifting from those 

Who quenched their

Thirst at a pub called

Poor Man's Stand.

Gail Constable is a published poet, mother, grandmother and friend. Her second love is singing so she can be found weekly at her hole in the wall bar belting out tunes. Gail currently resides on beautiful Cape Breton Island in Canada.