We’re back at the pub
at a table in the sun
drinking to welcome
the end of the lockdown
socially distanced
as per restrictions
examining faces from
two metres away
Over at the next table
with his back to us
a punk in a Kangol hat
sips on his Breda with
the aplomb of a man
who can pull off a thick
gauge double earring
worn without irony
Over in the corner
a Boddington’s drinker
in builder’s knee-pads and
paint-splattered trousers
he nurses his golden pint
props it up on his belly
like a man who doesn’t
want the moment to end
The atmosphere is merry
like the X-mas decorations
no one bothered to take down
when spring transformed
the island into a paradise
for flies and bees that
circle the table sometimes
landing in the beer foam
J. Archer Avary
