Late season in a racing town
packed lunchtime bar –
familiarity enough
excess of bonhomie.
The slight framed, bow-legged
faces like wizened apples.
standing out among the jostle
of shaved heads, broken noses
women who know
how to make themselves heard.
You’re either family
or just another punter.
Given the talk of bobs and bills,
the bucks who wash through here
monkeys and ponies, it would be
easy to assume an arcane knowledge
supposing these alone are party
to whatever certainties come round.
.
Tony Lucas
.