"Sunday Morning Ritual"

Do you recall when twelve noon
Could never come around too soon?
Gagging for a beer at the door
Sawdust tongue hitting the floor.
Pretending it was normal to be yawning
Outside the pub door at eight in the morning.
That 'miracle' special licence down Brick Lane
Packed to the rafters
With the alcoholically insane.
Total strangers middle aged blokes
Certainly not here for lemonade or cokes.
Silently on my own
Hiding behind the 'News of the World'
Until he sidles up alone
Bullshit story unfurled.
I knew the story, knew the line
Same old crap every time.
A Walter Mitty every week
The clientele were rather bleak
Who 'knew' the Krays at their peak!
Could only listen and nod
Even though they were odd
Unable to clump him hard
In case you got barred.
All in the pretence of a breakfast bagel
When it was all about lager on the table.
Possibly desperation
Gagging for a drink
But when you are a drunkard
That's how low you sink.
Downing pints twenty four seven
Sunday morning shithole heaven
As much as your wallet will allow
Beer is all that matters now.
That's what I took for normality
In actual fact it was insanity
But what has happened
I can't look back
I'm just grateful
Sobriety's on track!

Dulwich Poet 15th September 2013

( On Sunday mornings like today I go out to watch the Dulwich Hamlet Youth Team. Back in my drinking days I'd often be in a dodgy east London pub with an early morning licence, before the other pubs opened.)