When I started freelance piano

London pubs were my salvation

I cut my teeth on lonely bars

in decrepit streets or bland estates.

Those hesitant efforts of mine rang out

to frame the lager and the stout

with familiar figures in leatherette chairs.

cardigans and flares with afro hairs.

Sleeves rolled up and braced for action

the working man and his satisfaction.

The stink of cigarettes stubbed out

those days,       those days

when my songs rang out

like death knells in a passing of age

before the Sweeney and Minder's page.

And yet they haunt me with a tear

when I think of that freshman and his pint of beer.