perching at the bar
on one of those high stools
nurses his lager-tops
watches younger men
playing darts and pool
and the big twin screens
showing cricket and football
in strangely lurid hues

The old man with the trilby
slightly plastered
shares a tale of luck 

and strange mortalities
how one dead friend on holiday
wrote another's eulogy

Died while he was out there
before the fucking funeral
What are the chances, eh?

As the wrestlers squeeze into their outfits
agreeing how the bouts will go
the women with handbags and interesting hats
rush the front seats

Cotton wool for snow
Sheep as large as donkeys

The child a little careworn
in his rickety crib

Mary leans off kilter
Joseph props her up

A king is lying down
overcome by the occasion

and there's a shepherd missing
Perhaps an argument

about the finer points of flock-tending
a lock-in at the Inn

A little too much wine
One too many stars

This evening
because the moon is low
we understand Hare
'You!' he shouts
with his sing-song voice
louder than you might imagine
'Yes, you, two-legs
Fuck off out of my poem!'

After the funeral
he took his 
father's shoes

(Expensive shoes
the ugliest
you ever saw)

wore them out
in all weathers
let them rot

until the soles
flapped
trying to escape

the ratty uppers
holding on
for dear life

A low mist wanders in
hangs around the station
ambles down the ginnels
muckys up the washing
sidles up to strangers
mumbles something murky
kicks the vicar's shins
steals the church collection
strolls into the Rose & Crown
orders three large whiskies
and waits
for Police Constable McNally
with his magical handcuffs
and his new Dispersal Order

For V.G.

Hot engine oil
High volume rock & roll
that rattled ribs
and made us dream
of flick knives
and slicked back hair
Italian girls
with coal black eyes

Tall as houses

No, Taller

The speed of it

A stray spark

The back field roaring

Jumping from house to house

No, not jumping

Leaping then?

Yes, leaping

Or dancing

Yes, dancing

And fast

So very fast

A great wave

Taking out the whole row

How did it feel?

We can't explain

It was terrible of course

We were mesmerised

We saw things in the flames

Shallow keel for beaching
high prow for the waves

Clinker built

These sturdy boats
were great ships once
filled with iron and fire

More poetry than you
could swing a hammer at