Land Lady is God

04/12/19

 

 

 

 

Perched on bar stool

Irish as ever, a server

About to pop rounded

Everyway waters broke

Flowed over cold pint tap.

Yes blue baby due Monday

She says points beside glowing sign

Red jukebox strike – oh and tomorrow

My birthday – oh happy birthday

‘Johanna, sing Jo-Jo.'

‘Your shot,’ Romanian Scottish

Isles of Men, hovering dog stomachs

Drool across pool like old days, young pups

Circling the private spike of a hedgehog

Not really sure of what, except to prod  

Gold wooden stick and perforate  

Motherly outline of meat grease dish

Cue not good, they tease

Rubs her belly, they chuckle

Wheeze, who is tobacco?

She pours another around

So round complete – unnoticed

Without her no billiard curves

No shots to game the take turn  

An unexecuted cosmic design

The blackball pocketed at birth.