The polished wooden bar

is just how I remember.

The optics, the glasses

everything is the same

The beer and pint pots

Drinks for the masses

And the barmaids smile is just as nice

as a barmaid that worked here thirty years ago

For thirty years ago I knew them all;

bar men, barmaids

pot men, and land lords.

Bar loungers, beer drinkers

and Pool players too.

Lunchtime boozers, and officer workers,

smokers, Layabouts, and loungers

misfits, gossips, hangers on

chit chatters, watchers

early doors drinkers, bring it on.

Pints of lager

pints of bitter

Gin and tonics

Whisky and dry

Girls in short skirts eyeing up the lads

Lads and their pints, chatting up the girls

Kissing and cuddling

loves young dream

Drunken words

arguments slurred

I’ve seen it all

from the lady in pink who’s giving me the eye

to the girl with the cleavage who shrieks

‘What are you looking at –and why?’

‘Oh don’t mind her –she’s just a bit pissed’

says the barmaid as she polishes the bar

‘Why don’t you have another jar?’

Thanks for the offer I say to my host

but its thirty years since I was a regular here

and the pub’s the same but I feel like a ghost.

There’s a chill in here, a bit of a freeze

maybe its time for’ last orders please.’