Thank you Nigel for reminding me that Crit Corner exists.
Here is something I have been working on, with kind of 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 and 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.
Thanks for posting your poem. It would be great if more members followed your example.
I loved the poem: how well it goes with mine! It movingly conveyed to me the passing of time and the harsh effects of age. There’s some stunning imagery in this which I wish I’d written; most notably ‘days like dominoes’ and ‘hair as white as heads of ale’. Wonderful!
I look forward to reading other members’ responses.