Local Colour

A mealy mouthed bird
With hair so absurd
I thought she was a he cross dressed
Throws words like punches
In garbled bunches
She has so much to get off her chest

Across the wide bar
Is a man with a scar
Who carries on a onesided conversation
He yammers away
About a fateful day
Years past when he fought for the nation

The meat raffle man
Comes round again
Its for a good cause is all he can say
I wave my glass
In the hopes he’ll pass
Until he has to give his tickets away

There’s another chick
Looking at the pick
I think she fancies she’ll take me home
I’ve got nothing there
That I want to share
I turn away and hope she leaves me alone

The bottle’s stopped talking
I should get to walking
But the nightlife is so captivating
I’ll take this grey
Over the cold hard day
And the boredom that I know is waiting