SUNDAY MORNING OPENING TIME.
An Easterly blows in from Siberia,
rattling at the chains of an abandoned boat
the rigging singing in the bitter wind,
waves slapping on the hollow hull.
Empty beer cans roll and tumble
drumming into doorways,
clattering down the slipway,
bobbing out to sea.
Hard drinking men with windswept hair,
stand firm against the storm,
catching all the latest news.
The who’s done what to whom and who’s screwed who’s.
Pounding heads and bilious guts,
their quiet despair their ears full cocked,
all listening for the faintest click,
to sound the bar room door’s unlocked.
Copyright © J.M.Brown 2013
Instead of starting to write in” The Sixties,” Jim Brown waited until he was in his sixties.
A fan of doggerel, limericks and nursery rhymes, he writes micro-tales and is currently involved as a playwright for Citadel Arts and Theatre group, with a play “Granny was a rock star” being produced at this year’s Leith festival at the Granary pub on the Shore.