Just this side of Gap
In a little box without room for a band,
Parking, or anonymity
A group got together to whip it good,
As was sung in the eighties, “Whip it real good.”
There were stout dudes and speckled hens
All moving in the cramped confines
With holiday cheer and festive intentions.
Conversation ran shallow
As it should in such a happy place.
Having never been to a pub in Europe,
This is probably the closest I will get to being a Blinder,
Hanging with the sequin set, the flannel fellas,
The middle-age sweaters, the readers off a drooping t-shirt,
A place for every man, hashtag that, every person
So I guess this is what it’s like over there,
Not much different than here,
Hanging with some mates, tipping a couple of pints,
Enjoying life, really…
Simple, no pretense, nothing to fear.