He Could Take His Ale

From Adventuring Into Basketry zine, first issue, 1981.

Standing in front of the mirror,
He smoothed back his hair,
Arranged the small tache,
That he was cultivating,
And departed for college.

Thumbs hooked behind beltstraps,
Chewing imaginary gum,
He strutted up to his mates.
“Hey up youths”, he enunciated,
“Pulled an ace bird last night.”

Outside, having his fifth fag,
He noticed an onlooker:
“What are you starin’ at, pal?”
He inquired, raising his fist.
“You want smashin’ or what?”

Just past opening time,
He strolled into the pub:
“Thirteen pints, darlin'”, he drawled,
Sticking out his chest.
He could take his ale.

Jonathan Tait, 21.7. 1981

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