Farewell...by Heather Moulson
Online - 09 August 2020
Two Old Pals …
Oh dear, pubs, you’re dying off one by one.
taking a hefty part of me with you.
My little nose pressed up at the window,
waiting for my Dad to bring out a lemonade.
Choking on me first half a lager, trying to
impress the local lads.
The rickety cigarette machine that still
owes me money
The old boy sitting under the dartboard.
Your gruelling, unmerciful stench of pale ale
Tobacco stained décor, and sordid
Gastropub then safely unconceived,
But trying to get served!
You still see to your favourites first,
even though they’ve dropped off one by one.
Your era’s gone. The next time I see you, I’ll
be shopping and using the self service.
Ringing for assistance.
And as for you, tobacco, you were once
my permanent fixture, coughing on you
behind the playing fields. Trying to be worldly.
Blowing smoke rings on top of the bus.
Sometimes, you were my only friend.
There again, your prices stink, worse than the
lingering smoke on my Mum’s winter coat.
Once you were welcomed everywhere.
An ashtray, the most vital of accessories.
Now, you have really lost your charm
No longer a glamorous prop, you’ve
slipped through my nicotine fingers.
I’ll have to look for new friends now,
Something else to make me complete, but
I will long to bump into the both of you again.
by Heather Moulson