The Pub

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

I wrote this somewhere in the 1990s I think. When I came to type it up from its notebook I realised that a couple of the references were too out of date to perhaps be relevant now. I haven't
changed them, but have added a note at the bottom to indicate which and would be grateful for any thoughts. I think I prefer the original version however, as there is now a no smoking ban in all UK
pubs, so it loses some of its realism if I try to update it too much.

Submitted: March 08, 2018

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Submitted: March 08, 2018



Drunken men, smells and noise;

Painted women, obscene men's toys.

Cigarettes, ales, music and smoke,

And in hidden corners the odour of dope.


Perfume overpowers, smokey eyes sting,

Alcoholic drifter tries to sing.

Voices chatter, juke box plays,

Inside the pub it's just another day.


Large breasted barmaid, peroxide hair,

Regulars don't touch, they know not to dare.

Football hooligans, on route from a match,

Speak of goals and Shilton's catch.


Outside, life carries on just the same;

Famine, disease, they're just names.

Earthquakes and floods in faraway places,

In countries of thousands of unknown faces.


Is it fun and laughs these drinkers come for?

Do they escape the world inside the saloon door?

Or do the effects of the alcohol simply numb the brain,

From the outside world of death, fear and pain?






Personal Note:

  • I considered swapping hooligans for suporters, as hooliganism is less of an issue in 2018 than it was in the 80s and through the 90s. 
  • I considered updating the goalkeeper to Heaton or someone else current to bring the feel of the piece up to date as the change in our weather and natural disaster issues felt it made it even more relevant now than when I wrote it.


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