Local

It used to be no problem
To trick a bartender
Beating the identification parade
Appearing to be underage
Sitting under the heated beams
In pub gardens, around
One small soft drink
Rummaging for a fifty pence piece
To smash a few pool balls
Rip a few stitches
Before card machines
Bar brawls were the price
You’d pay for stepping on
Someone else’s toes
Spilling drinks, hoping
The karaoke machine
Would update its stale
Old book, as old as
Questionable bar snacks
Landlords hard as nails
Chained to their jobs
Locked in well past time

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Local

Seams

Leave the wooden box
The bright red door
Autumnal leaves
Blowing through
Weekend workers
Trudging back to padlocks
Writing essays on
Worsening conditions
Social media taxi fare
Paid for in plastic
Not plastic, speculative
Cultural beeps
Instant transactions
An eye for an I.D.
Hands to yourself
Young one
Lest we forget
To remember
Remembrance
Sundays aren’t for
Clothes anymore
We’ve moved on
My hands control
The buttons
But I don’t understand
The seams

Seams