Poem By Iain Mackay

Smoky basement - hard benches;
Men sweat - girls with stale perfume.
Warm beer spilling on the floor,
12-bar blues filling the room.

4am - frosty morning -
London’s streets are empty now.
Dirty train – Euston Station -
Take us back to Watford town.

No sleep, but we are happy,
All night out at Les Cousins.
Soon to have our breakfast early -
Thinking of those bacon rolls

30 years – take but moments
To pass by in memory.
Here I sit, records playing:
Old man’s teenage reverie.

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