Friday, March 22, 2024

the weary road home

having spent
too long
in an English pub in town,
i come out
five pints later
in the dead of night
talking
with a broken British
accent.
i start rambling on
about butter pies,
and royalty,
the king and queen,
cricket
and lady Di.
if only there were
a cobblestone
street to guide me,
as i stagger home
reciting Larkin,
and Shakespeare, Dylan
and others,
not Dylan Thomas
though.


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