One silver, one bronze, put them on the counter.
The Bar Man looks straight through me.
“It’s going to cost you more than that, friend.”
I pull out a gun. Aim at his heart.
The band strikes up a rolling rhythm.
He turns away to serve another customer
As I have the bullet trained on him
At the gold tooth that’s still mocking me.
He serves the drinks and comes back.
“How much then?” I ask.
“Look!” he says “Read my thoughts!”
I read his heart and see a garden in a council estate.
He stands with watch in hand, bird feed in the other,
Watching the clouds for a glimpse.
Then a woman with red hair, misty strange,
Otherworldly, could be dead. She haunts him still.
I put down gold. “Is that OK?”
Written for share a poem at St Ethelwolds.