• Lorenzo Bonari


Mouths wide open,

Pouring down drinks,

Banter, banter,

Smiles turn into grins,

Leaving days behind,

Crawling into pubs,

Louder, louder,

You can hear their laughs,

Pointed at females,

Bending over stools,

Hiding under makeup,

The withering of youth,

Sweaty hands, wrapp'd 'round pints,

Fake eyelids, faker smiles,

Crow's feet and buried dreams,

Is this what life was meant to be?

Yorkshire's landscapes,

Drunken scrawls,

Beautifying the bathroom's walls,

Water leaking,

From the ceiling,

Dripping loudly on the floor,

Flowing slowly,

From the hallway,

Through the cracked wood of the door,

Time floats slowly in the toilet,

Where only quiet sounds occur,

Purple faces contemplating,

Dirt and sweat between their balls,

Then again back to the table,

Where all the lads are going wild,

Talking nonsense, feeling dizzy,

Tearing coasters, wasting time,

Older gents sit by themselves,

All the while madness unfolds,

"For goodness' sake", I hear them say,

"People now days can't behave",

Grumpy and grey,

With little to live for,

They are stuffing their faces,

With pudding and liquor,

Then the pub's bell rings,

It's the last round of beers,

The last round of banter,

They all migrate towards the counter,

Like endangered species,

Stomping through the stained carpet,

Inebriated and greasy,

Slowly they'll be departing.

Mouths wide open,

Loudly munching crisps,

Pork scratchings,

Drunken stretching,

And relaxing,

In the backseat, of a taxi

Yet home is near,

Tomorrow's real...

You can't hide the truth,

Just by drowning it in booze.