She looks at me
hard
and the pub seems silent
waiting for her call

“Why do you always have to do this?”

i look back
at her
over her shoulder
there’s a clock behind the bar
and I can see that its nearly time

“You always do this.”

If I can get past her, somehow,
I can get another beer in
before the bell tolls the death
of serving

“Getting drunk”

I’m not sure I’ll get away with it
she seems angry
and
its not even that time of the month

“Its not fair”

Finally, something I agree with
looking sadly ahead, as
the shutters come down on the bar
I’ll need to ride the evening
with some degree of consciousness remaining

“I’m going”

And I could let her go, but
I love her
and anyway
She’s got the keys to the hotel

Amended 15 May 2005