Get out of my pub

There were no bags of Scampi Fries left
and the bubbles in the lager were dead
and the quiz machine was rigged
and the wallpaper was half on or half off
and I couldn’t feel my toes
and a moped tore down the roof
and the landlord was a lizard
and the tables were priests on all fours
and the carpet was a secret
and the windows were elbows
and the beer mats were lungs
and the clock hadn’t been invented yet
and I refused to leave.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

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