The night was filled
With tiny razors that
Slit my chin, old men
Might need this sharp air
I was too young and beardless.
Four of us went into the warm pub
Warm is too mild a term, it was
Oven-basting hot
Surrounded by tall turkeys
Short enough not to buy a drink
Not that I could afford one.
A band played, the room shifted
In a white anger blindly
Whipping at each other
Arms chopping the heat;
Thick axes like something
From comic books I dodged
Ducked, dived and moved
With the room. Guitars were
Not guitars but craned necks
Snapping like hungry turtles
I did everything I could
To avoid the jaws, blinded with sweat
And then it stopped and
People clapped, slapping
Each others backs and the men
On our heads got down and I looked at
John and his nose was bleeding
And his mouth was smiling.
The band said ‘Thank you’
And we all waited, panting
For the drums to strike again.
