The Clocks

Under the fluorescence of the beer garden, oak gleams white compared to pine, tables with places where ashtrays once stood majestic, coasters with pictures of maidens, and empty glasses rimmed with rings of dry froth. A pint on my table, my scarf undone, and then I’m looking at you.

You gently kiss your man and watch me over his shoulder. And I feel odd as you smile at me with your eyes, your tongue in his mouth and your hand on his thigh. And I’m feeling even worse now because I’m staring back at you and I have to look away for a second until you stop kissing him.

And when he walks off to the bar, you mouth ‘Hello’ and I blush so hard because I wasn’t sure why you did that, and then you smile and suddenly the air is thick with red hot lava.

snow starts flaking down,
you look wonderful in green,
clocks go back tonight.