Look into the eye of one of the many
Retired or redundant regulars;
you will be told you do not belong here.
A room of red bloated faces look
with disdain into their never empty glasses.
Old lessons of mistaken national pride
are not forgotten depsite the road to oblivion.
All consuming clouds of smoke
entwined with heavy stares
make it hard to breath,
or believe that within the womb of culture
dead beliefs still live.
Only the painting remain the same
just more yellow around the edges.
The tables despite constant lashings
of varnish still bare the engravings of hate.
Drunkens men's words last longer in wood.
The toilets with all there piss pools
from afternoon battered bladders
offered no solitude.
'white Pride does not hide'
Said the slogan in the shit smeared
cubicle, I could only laugh at the irony.
Not Long Left
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-very-un-public-house-unless-your-white-of-cour/
