28. Bar Bull Fighters by HanJan published on 2013/05/28 21:53:20 +0000 This evening, Eleanor and I went to the local pub for a meal. Today's poem was written there and tickled me a great deal. Not my usual sort of style, but it was nice to write something light. Bar Bull Fighters In the pub, at the bar Men gather to share strut stories, Playing with pocketed loose change Or leaning with elbow assertion In front of the pumps. Each waits for The Pause, Rehearsing the tale to top The last, only half hearing The current yarn In the jostling queue. We sit and eat our meal. Chewing hides Delightful pleasure In dropping my eaves, Attending the task Of my salad leaves. “And like, we didn’ know the towne But he like, went ‘This Way! That Way!’ An’ we ended up in the roughest part there. In some crazy wild Irish Pub!” A gauntlet thrown in the swig of beer, That ends the story. No-one responds to content, But the older man, without reassurance of forearms On the bar begins: “Have you ever kissed the Blarney Stone?” Direct question demands muttered response. Gratified to be alone in his boast, he elaborates: “Well, you gotta let this chap hold on to yer ankles. Massive drop. Upside down, you kiss the stone! I got a certificate to prove it!” And another reward follows the fable: The booted woman proves attention, Despite herself, interest asking: “What’s it like?” Now he has credit for the dramatic pause And the delaying sup of pint: “Ha! I nearly shat meeself!” Even the men bow to the bullfighter And they all laugh in chorus. I chew my food quietly In the table behind And my wilting dressed salad Smiles along with me.