how quickly the room fills 
as the rain slashes 
coming down
and shooting through the window like stars 

people pull out stools 
and the glasses on the bar shatter 
as stud buttons on sleeves
cuff them 

i can feel desperate for conversation
and i stare at you sideways 
you, with your arms crossed across your chest 
eyes fixed on the television 
which is mounted onto the wall opposite

i catch you looking 
as if you are
in the faces of people, listening to their conversations, 
trying to find a place at the bar, so you can order drinks 
as the old men talk about the football
and you open your mouth 
as if to say something to them 
to be a part of
the discussion on a blind ref, diving and a no penalty decision 

the moment passes 
and you instead 
nod to the barman 
as he says, ‘the usual?’ 
and throw down the twenty-pound note. 

CONNECTION, a poem from my chapbook, HOME. Which you can read here

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