This would have been so much simpler

seventy years ago, distant edible Time

gone by, a hopeful spot of lunch

and various glass sizes of whisky

and beer filling my insides,

the White Hart

a mess of staggering proportions,

eye sight blurred and voice slurred,

I would have bowed to the words

of Dylan, the master of such dramatic pause…

 

and shuffled along my own feeble attempt

in which to capture a moment

in fag cut haze, breathing it in,

sideways glance to a booth where my words