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!
Categorized as Poems

By Arthur Richardson

Very part time poem maker. Retired from paid work.

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