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Appeared in the Winter 2004 issue.

for John

Perhaps for a pint or slice of cake,
in a pub or grocer's shop,
but here,
and because she punctured yet again
those bruises on your forearm ?

It just seemed so out of place,
that croaked 'Thankyou',
stopped only from toppling down the throat
because of its exit on a puff of pain.

As we left via 'Casualty',
threading the rows of
the boozed and battered,
some pissed pugilist announced
he'd "waited for fucking ages...",
as we stepped out to a 'forever'
fresh started that night.

View bio information and additional poems published in Half Drunk Muse on the author's main archive page.

Copyright 1999-2012 Christopher Major.