One More Drink

"I don't want to be drunk,"
he says, leaning forward,
over his pint, reaching out his hand
to hers. She smiles
knowing, forgiving,
keeping her hand still, under his.
"But you are," she says
and looks at the table,
seeing again the stains and ash.
Around them, schoolkids,
out pretending to be older,
stand limply, waiting for drinks,
bought by the old-looking one
- the one who knows the barman.
Finally, she looks up
and he moves his hand to support him
as he drinks the last of his pint.
"Another?" he asks, standing up.
She hands him her empty wine glass
and sees him admire one of the schoolgirls
as he stumbles slightly turning to the bar.