Snug Bar

by Shane Strachan

Linger on that cobbled corner
far James and Virginia Street meet,
ye micht hear the clink o glass,
a smoker’s rasp, the soft scuff
o ashtrays dichted clean, the whine
o the foamy glass-washin machine
as its coorse bristles furl bricht green.

Listen for pound coins rattlin doon
the bandit as barmaids shout through
the cellar hatch – the till pings, stappit-fu!
Hear the repeated whack o darts
puncturin holes aa ower the waa,
the urinal’s spluttrin waterfaa,
the mannies mummlin at the bar…

Och, noo ere’s only revvin cars
and a scurrie’s lonely caa–caa
abeen this impty carpark far
the Snug Bar eence stood – this void
atween funcy flats far folk hide inside,
deef tae the last orders bell chime
and the “Drink up! It’s hame time!”