The Newsagent, The Gardener and The Railwayman
About noon on most days of the week
the three would gather at their regular table
in the Affiliated Workingmen's Club.
All around was natter of football, cars,
the price of houses, hankerings after larger things
and greater social standing, how to beat
the fruit machine and which flavour crisps to eat.
Yet amid these deep debates, the three muttered
of socialism, the absurdity of our lives,
existentialism and, once, a brown
paper parcel containing the Myth of Sisyphus
was passed, subversively, between empty
bottles of Old English Ale.
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