They Become

In a dream.

Late night,
long drive.
Family with kids
need a stop.

Pub car park
all shivvers.
Climbing out
to the cold,
clear night.

Three huddle
calling for the forth.
Between the welcome mat
and the porch light.

Pulling the door,
senses are alerted
to the roar.
A room
of noisy faces.

Through dim fug
an entanglement
of people.
Dogs weave
following trays
of buffet food
passed over heads.

Excited togetherness
pitches and rises.
Someone bashes a piano.
A song reels
like winter sky starlings.
holding its shape.

Three deep at the bar,
leaning across each other
waving notes.
Shouting the names of drinks
at ear cupping barmaids,
with the red faced landlord
furiously pulling pumps,
stab at the optics,
throw ice into glasses.
Huffing and puffing
hair from their faces.

A nod and the children are lost.
Coats become a mountain,
leaving the couple embracing.
Humanity’s warmth soaking.

No such thing as strangers.
Shaken hands,
patted backs
embrace, absorb.
The construct
of separation
in to
a single smile.

They have become.


Ben Greenland




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