I slip past the regulars, zig
zag the drunks - they want me
by their fire, but the heat
from hand and glass is too much.
The pub is like the one I used to take her to,
with a leaking roof that drools onto the floor
and leaning, creaking tables
that I could wring to make up a round.
I lean against the soaked bar
look left, right at the pros
with their straights, doubles, rocks
and order a beer, knowing
that with my green tongue,
I have lots to learn again.