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Poetry
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| Poem in a Pub | |
| By Katanga | ||||||||||
| 13 September 2008 | ||||||||||
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Poem in a Pub I write a furtive poem in this pub, composing half-formed lines to pass the time. While waiting for some half-baked fast-food grub, I beg my muse to send me words that rhyme. Behold! A heavenly body busies round, delivering orders everywhere but here. A punter makes a pass without a sound. Each time her duties bring her, tempting, near, he winks at her with lecherous vile intent. He hopes she'll notice him and clearly see in his eyes she's perfection, heaven-sent. This punter is, of course, the loathsome me. My angel shimmers on, a female Jeeves, unseeing and uncaring how my old heart grieves.
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