Anacreontic for a Pandemic

The pubs are to reopen
Soon and thank landlord for that.
I can't move for bottled beer
That is cluttering the flat
And bringing me to the edge
Of alcoholic torpor.
Now I can queue, register,
To once more be a pauper,
Sup a pint or two of ale,
As I said to my mate Syd,
Right through my obligatory
Face mask, for only ten quid!
Published
Categorized as Poems

By Arthur Richardson

Very part time poem maker. Retired from paid work.

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