The Liquid Garden

The evening sun modifies
Its push through tree tops,
Telegraph poles and wiring
The sun lacks the same passion
And violence of mid-day
Its light reflects sharply
On the greenery, but dances
Faintly on the bricks of the wall
The now, disco ball wall.
There is no Saturday Night Fever
Just a too loud sneeze
And a bit of a temperature
For this time of year

There is no bird song
No chorus, no solos
Just the occasional  moan
Screeched by a passing seagull
And a disgruntled wood pigeon
Complaining about the Brew
And his recent unemployment
There could be a solo cat’s
Chorus if the flea bitten tom
On the wall if he could be bothered
He performs the sounds of silence
Aloofly looking down through
His one good eye.

Office raptors and workplace predators
Scope stealthily, but only at first
Positioning, ready to pounce
The slime from table to table
Like erect snails avoiding salt
They ooze a shiny sludge
Of compliments and chat up
If there is any justice
They will fail miserably
Good for nothing the will
Come to nothing and on nothing

Afternoon alcoholics drink medicinally
Or so they attempt to claim
They’ll just have the one
And about eight other
Just the ones to lift their
Spirits elbow bending is
All they have to do
Despite their copious consumption
Their spirits don’t appear to rise
They become belligerently argumentative
Then tearful, then apologetic
As they get banned and leave

Rose sits not lonely but alone
She is relaxed and almost motionless
Apart from her ninja like
Knitting hands as they knit one
Purl one, knit one, purl one.
She seeks no company or
The piteous platitudes reserved
For those of a certain age
She would sooner punch
Them square in the face
Just to remind them that
That she is more than happy
With her own company
Her knitting and a G & T

Two ladies appear to romantically meet
They sip expensive red wine
And get cloudy together
Too tactile for heterosexuals
As they laugh and squeeze
Titter and reassuringly caress
They appear to be ladies
Favouring the flatter show
Well at least
Until their husbands arrive
Late as usual full of excuses
Seeking forgiveness
By purchasing yet more wine
It’s cheaper by the bottle
In the liquid garden

The waiting staff waits
Some more patiently than others
They wait on those who
In real life they wouldn’t seriously
Give the time of day
Yes Madam, yes Sir
May I take your order
Yes sir you can bark at me
And I will be submissive
Indeed Madam I will beg
Your forgiveness for no
Brining over the urine splashed
Nuts, pop-corn and crisps
They toe the line
For minimum wage
Preferring a life
On the stage.

Various clientel come and go
The disco wall gets pacified
As light merges into twilight
With purples, pinks and reds
A slight chill leads to jackets
And rising shawls
Much alcohol is consumed
Surprisingly there is no trouble
No negative drama to Hoover
My mood
I look around surveying
The liquid garden of much
Refreshment and human
Observations
I must return one day
Or maybe return
On a regular basis
Drinking Cider
Helping my creative flow
And liquidity