Pub Poetry
Babsi, a former Brockley resident, now lives in Brixton.

The girl behind the bar
is wearing no bra.

And every man that comes in to drink,
realises this without a blink.
and is from then on attached to the drink...
No! the bar -
with the girl behind -
that is wearing no bra...

The pub is packed
and the golden juice is streaming
faces are glowing
and faces are beaming
behind grey fogs of cigarette smoke
have I ever seen this bloke
who insists of knowing me?

It must have been one of these days
when I was living in a purple haze.

The waiter
goes every hour
(or a little bit later)
around to collect the glasses
But us, the guests,
we don't move our arses...

copyright 2005 by Babsi. No unauthorised reproduction or performance without permission

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