Thank you Nigel – for reminding me that Crits’ Corner exists.
Here is something that I have been working on, a similar theme.
Old men gather together
in a corner of the terminally ill pub.
Fixtures, with forgotten features.
Days like dominoes, numbered.
Hair as white
as heads of ale.
Time worn drinkers with wincing shabby skin,
as splintered as the original ragged
spit and sawdust floor. They swap Racing Post
nagging glances, murmur
in echoes with shrinking stories
and yarns both mild & bitter.
Their filtered habits die hard,
as they ease near to the final bell.
They are comrades in arms,
coughing in union toward time.
Toasting disorderly days,
chasing memories and early doors.