The Pub at the Waterside

I love to stare at the flowing water

The river by the concrete embankment

The levee that holds in the lonesome tide

On a windy autumn evening

Next to that old pub

The one with the geezers, and bankers wanting to escape everyday life but who can’t, and all sorts

The one we sometimes go to

I like the reflections I see

The glistening light, and how it moves, and how it gets lost

The flowing waves

And sometimes I get enraptured by it, and other times by the conversation and the people

Yet the time passed on by all the same

And nearer to the end, when I finish my drink

It feels like a cloud of mist being expunged with me at its epicenter

Like a magician’s trick

The slow pace of it all, the bliss, the exuberance

I feel comfort in being hidden, but also being there

Being present but not always

I seek these types of distractions I didn’t realise I craved

Is it being in the presence of those I’m not so close to, but I could be

Not so distant or close, but still at arms length

And when the numbers dwindle, I get brought back in

Like a substitute

And I must head home too

But not all is sad, for another day shall come

Whether soon or late

Or at least I hope