Poems

Desperate Measures

Desperate Measures

Desperate Measures

It’s not the great beer that draws us all here,
It’s not classy wine that tastes so damn fine,
It’s not flavoured gin, that was once mother’s ruin,
It’s not vintage brandy, the shorts, or the shandy,
It’s not fancy mixers, the whiskey, the spritzers,
It’s not cider, crisps, cocktails, scratchings or mocktails.