Deep inside the tunnel
A single bulb glows –
Illuminating the word ‘twist’, in orange letters
And the number eight point five.
Simultaneously
A bell chimes in the city –
Three and a half hours,
Until midnight
The Jazz bar fills
With smoke and keystrokes –
As eight bar blues dares to make an entrance
And zippo’s burn tobacco.
Tonight I stumble
Between conversations and warm scotch –
Tea coloured in seven ounce glasses
My tie sits, askew
Will I find my way –
Or will just one dead albatross hang from my ruddy neck,
Until a cool breeze drives me homewards,
To bed and forgiveness.
Poetry is my aeroplane 