At the Pineapple

A warm Kentish Town Wednesday.
Undertakers Drinking outside.
In shirtsleeves and open collars.
Having a pint after a long day.
La Vie en rose by Grace Jones is playing.
Breadsticks on a white tablecloth.
One of the men in black, takes a bite.
Now I realise it’s the wakes end.
Crumbs fleck the conservatory tables.
Mourners have consumed all the food.
Ready to go they pack their smart clothes.
Before the new crowd arrive.
My Jamaican Guy serenades an empty table.
Quickly taken by a teenage broncin buck.
Peace breaks when a troop 
of workmen arrive.
In Jackson Pollock paint
-flecked sweats.
Incongruously they sit next 
to two old gentlemen.
Renegades from a distant age.
Who swiftly manoeuvre to a quieter spot.
Later we go too, as day drinking drifts into night.


One response to “At the Pineapple

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: