Waiting
I pushed my way through the throng to the bar,
My ears assailed by drink-induced sound.
I’d put off it off as long as I could –
It was my turn to get in the next round.
Two lagers, two beers and a Guinness:
I knew that this wouldn’t be cheap.
But when I’d found my way to the target,
I saw that they were standing three deep.
I waited, I wheedled and I pushed,
I wormed my way through with a grunt.
Finally I crawled under their legs,
And eventually came up at the front.
They were all shouting and yelling:
Everyone was giving it a try,
Waving their fivers and their tenners,
Trying to catch the barmaid’s lazy eye.
She moved with the speed of a retarded sloth
On Mogadon, or a backward old tortoise.
Unimpressed by the frenzy of punters,
As if life itself held little purpose.
She took several passes, to find the right glasses,
To serve out pale ale or strong cider.
She poured gin-and-tonic, in a state catatonic,
And for beer, needed an old dog to guide her.
Some ice and a slice were beyond her:
Optics, mixers and bottles bemused her.
She couldn’t add up for toffee,
And the till completely confused her.
All around me were desperate people,
Yet from serving them quickly she shrunk.
With service at this glacial speed,
There wasn’t a chance of getting near drunk.
Empires rose and fell, and Hell froze over
In the time it took to serve out one cocktail,
And the period to complete one round
Was measured on the geological scale.
Nothing seemed to sir this girl up:
She was the world’s slowest barmaid.
By the time she served the guy next to me,
He’d lately died and his body decayed.
But I hung on in there, pinned up at the front,
Trying to catch her with a nod and a wink.
I might be several years older now,
But I was determined to get me a drink.
Galaxies formed, and faded away,
And the Universe fell in disorder.
Till she, at last, asked me what I wanted
And, finally, it was my turn to order.
But time had moved on, my memory gone,
I must have looked like a proper chump -
I’d forgotten the drinks that I’d come for,
And on the bar, my head I started to thump.
I racked my brains for some answers,
But there were only “ifs” and “ands” and “buts”,
And that’s why we’re all drinking crème de menthe,
To wash down our pork scratchings and nuts.
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