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A Reading

I couldn’t do it,

Not at that pub.

All those clever bastards

Spilling wine

(into their throats).

Fancy standing up

To read –

I’ve seen the pictures:

All black jeans

And pained looks,

Unruly hair and rolling eyes.

And there’s me

Drinking days done

Gasping for ale,

Anything –

It’s too late now

The stars are up.

And anyway

I have nothing to say.

Not here.

Later, perhaps

When we’ve had a drink

2 thoughts to “A Reading”

  1. Brilliant, John! I feel like that every single bloody time I go to read somewhere…always the first reaction, I simply ‘do not BELONG HERE’! NOT MY CROWD’ Much enjoyed.

    Yes, only the ale gives the necessary heady courage to seize the mic like every other rapster/rhymer and heart-broken moaner. Maybe you need to attend readings where wine is forbidden, only workmen’s brew (ales/lagers) acceptable!

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