Happy Hour

When I was seventeen they stopped asking me,

For ID,

My friends and I would gather at a table,

In the corner of ‘The Fisherman’s Fable’,

And drink bitter through a moustache

It had taken two weeks to grow,

And we felt like men because we were bitter drinkers.

When I was twenty the guys from the factory,

Would often join me,

At my regular place and my regular table,

In the corner of ‘The Fisherman’s Fable’,

And drink bitter while we complained

About work and the weather,

And we were men and we were bitter drinkers.

Then I was fifty and I still went there most nights,

Putting the world to rights,

Having wonderful discussions from my seat at my table,

With the owner of ‘The Fisherman’s Fable’,

And I drank bitter while we says it’s nearly time to retire

Because we are getting on in years,

Men like us who are bitter drinkers.

And now I am old and it is under new management,

From a southern gent,

Who serves cocktails and olives and removed my table,

From the corner of ‘The Fisherman’s Fable’,

So I drink bitter while the place fills up with seventeen year olds,

And nobody talks to me,

Because I am an old, bitter drinker.

Butterfly

There are certain things that never disappoint,

There are certain lessons that,

Once learned,

Leave a lasting impression.

Power gained from knowledge.

Comfort gained from a red, woollen blanket.

Present a butterfly with a flower,

Effort, minimal.

Price, acceptable.

Appreciation is your reward.

These characters are never enough

For every feeling

Every thought

I could never sum it up

‘I love you’ is not the same followed by colon, dash, close bracket.

Or maybe I could vocalize the Vocalise

Tell you the purest things with the purest words

With the help of a Cello

Maybe it would be better to present a butterfly with a flower.

Big old wooden trunk, trellis of Roses, one of Ivy

(kept well maintained, it shouldn’t damage the brickwork)

Wooden flooring, rugs, fireplace, sunflowers and a blueberry bush,

Wine and whisky, Samson and Delilah.

The pitter-patter of tiny

Paws

So, I may not do it often enough,

But when I present a butterfly with a flower,

It means

You know what it means.

Por Ti Volare. Literally.

There are certain things that never disappoint.