The Pub
As I enter the back carpark,
I begin to crack a smile…
This gathering place of locals,
It’s been a flamin while…
The smell of burning steaks,
And beer battered fries…
The thought of and ice-cold lager,
Has left a tear in my right eye…
I head towards the bar,
A ceremony in itself…
As I pause to reflect a moment,
At those beers upon the shelf…
With my credit card at the ready,
I am quick to make my play…
"I’ll have a fourex mate,
And the special of the day"…
Yes, I gone and ordered a Parmi,
Definitely, the signature dish right there…
A marriage made in heaven,
The perfect bloody pair…
But suddenly I was confused,
When the chef offered me a salad…
What an un-Australian gesture,
His request, was just not valid…
"Just chips for me", the's answer,
I’m on a diet there, old mate…
As I shook my head in anger,
Disgusted with this debate…
After sorting out the feed,
I looked for somewhere to go and squat…
To catch up on the gossip,
Amongst this local lot…
Then, I spotted this old bastard,
A bloke I knew from years ago…
As I shook his crusty hand,
His face began to glow…
We exchanged yarns for hours,
It is funny who you meet…
At the local pub and bistro,
Down the flamin street…
Cheers Len Newey 2021