Poem By Oliver St Clair

'No danger pal', bartalk
He just missed out on a knighthood
and remains untitled

Less hair on his head
More hair on his eyebrows
One swoops upwards
Like a Nike tick - or swoosh
He was approved before judgement
and now rocks a little on his chair

'No danger pal' thick with scotch
both in spirit and in accent
and looks away, out the window
at a falling sun
a fading hope
that somehow lumbers on.

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