Hey, Albert: when the words whip
across the bar; you have caused offence.
Beer sticky elbows peel away, hands open,
offering your palms. Albert the Innocent.
The publican cradles the telephone –
offers peaceful resolutions: stands stock in stare.
Retreating into wall watching, the bar
becomes oblivious to your shape and sound.
& then Moby Drunk stumbles in -
A white whale cresting the carpet.
We pour your pain; we love you, honey.
“Kill me now, wet drunk,” some wit says.
We all cry-laugh until your round drops.
“-|- ”
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