Drinking Together
It was your idea to take shelter here,
warm and dry with good company,
you said
and we could drink a coffee
until the rain stopped.
So we did.
It was fun.
But still the rain kept falling
so we played a game
took turns
to place
one hand above,
one hand below
then pushing each other away
so we could create space
for us to come together
that first time.
It was fun.
And we drink down another coffee
before we notice
that all the others had left.
Nor did we notice
that the rain had stopped.
It still makes us smile
together.
Sipping Sangria
As we drink down the white wine sangria
between our lips and our sips,
a broken stream of words.
“It’s not that I’m not tempted,”
she said
“and I don’t want to offend you.”
She took my hand briefly,
to show no offence
was intended.
I held on to hers.
Then we walked in silence
for quite a long way
enveloped in the dark night.
Hand in hand.
Quiet footsteps
that didn’t break the silence.
She looked up at me and smiled.
I smiled back.
Or was I the first to smile
and she smiled back?
I don’t remember.
It doesn’t matter,
but we still don’t remember
as we smile afresh
drinking down our white wine sangria.
It’s Bizarre Said Mike
“It’s bizarre,” said Mike,
his head sinking lower
to drink down his pint
on the evening before
his Business Class flight.
A London stopover was agreed
with a night at a fine hotel each way.
It gave him time to go to the ANC office
for briefing or debriefing - as always on these jobs.
“It’s bizarre,”
said the Anti Apartheid campaigner,
drinking down another beer
in the back street pub.
“It’s bizarre,”
said the Young Communist
grown older
sinking more beers.
“It’s bizarre,”
said the Professor of Criminology,
employed by the government of South Africa
to advise on policing the townships,
as he ordered another beer.
“It’s bizarre,” said Mike
his head sinking lower
to drink down his pint.
“It’s bizarre.”
He ordered another beer
just in case they’d noticed,
just in case it was his last.
Written in memory of Mike Brogden
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