Jagged Glass - Diane Scantlebury

Fragrant creatures wafting past
Busy bar with harassed staff,
Eyes glazed and bald pates shining
Downing pints and shots
Unsteady drunks whining,
At thrills from an oversized widescreen
The footy fans sigh and roar,
Inebriated a punter staggers
His drink tumbles,
Spills onto the sticky floor,
With a shoulder shrug and unseeing eyes
He lurches, uncaring through the open door,
Jagged glass shards,
Now the only remnants of lost dregs
And wasted lives of those, who like him,
Have slipped and gone before.

Diane Scantlebury