Monday, October 16, 2006

A Beer.

In the bar we talked above the clinks,
and mumbles, the overloud grumbles,
when drinks were spilled
and refilled.
We coughed above the drifts of smoke
and you spoke about
my wanderings of the last three years.

There were no tears tonight, no sneers,
no blame to lay –
I had my say, you had yours.
Decided it was best to split
at once
instead of bit by bit - a clean cut
leaves a smaller scar.

Back at the bar I bought a beer,
watched it settle, clear and cold.

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