In the life I’ve come to, people stand at the bar,
talk pleasantly as they drink, and do not stare,
pop glasses on to scour the papers, poke
at crosswords, tentatively, and sometimes joke.
Most of them smoke, and most who do not cough.
This is the life I’ve come to. Call it love.
Call it love that brought me here; of drink,
of friendship in sadness; and of you, I think.
It’s been a long journey; or a short one,
with lots of stops – I don’t know which. A fraught one?
No, not really. Amiable, but not distracting.
Nothing too disturbing, or exacting.
So how are you? Single still, or married?
Have you kids, or are you getting worried?
The one thing I don’t want to know is that
you’re dead. I was drunk the very date,
be sure. You’re not though, are you? – Say you’re not.
That would be hard, I never had you, but still you’re all I’ve got.
David McLintock
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