We were always at our happiest when
wearing coats indoors, the tables we
occupied marked with no other dust
but our own
Crouched over pints, that scatter the
table like misplaced shrapnel, the
surrounding shapes taking on less and
less meaning, as the ones with skinheads,
prams and over rehearsed arguments now
fade towards the back walls.
And tearing beer mats, your eyes ablaze,
awaiting the bloodshot net that will snare
our heads when least expected, you stare
through the comments I throw, and ring them
dry like sweat soaked towels.
I’m diverted by the sparrows sat drinking
from oil slicked puddles outside, and I know
all to well that my den is now built with none
corroding walls, which will keep me dry for
decades to come.
Jonathan Butcher has been writing poetry for around five years. He has had work appear in various print and on-line publications including: Popshot Magazine, Underground Voices, Fade Poetry Journal, The Rusty Nail, Dead Beats, and Gutter Eloquence, amongst others. He lives in Sheffield in the north of England.
For more of his work visit: http://www.popshotpopshot.com/
Jonathan’s work is featured in Elbow Room Volume Two