Room at the Bar. A poem by Matthew Holland

In these uncertain times
Everyone’s got their issues.
Is there food in the house?
Have we got enough tissue?

But for me, there’s one plight
That’s been plaguing my brain.
How much longer until
The pubs open again?

Now I know what you’re thinking
Has this lad lost a screw?
To be thinking of pints
While the world’s in the loo?

Of course there are things
More important these days.
Like if schools will return
Before June holidays.

Or if elderly people
That can’t go outside,
Are being looked after
With food and supplies.

And that we remember
To keep our hands clean
To help stop the spread
Of Covid-19.

I’m sure hospital workers
Would think I’m a clown,
If they heard this confession
That’s weighing me down.

But I can’t stop my brain,
From thinking “If only
I could sit down in Devitt’s
With a pint of Peroni”.

Dear God, what I’d pay
For an over-priced whiskey.
But I know there’s no way
As it’s just far too risky.

I hope you won’t judge me
For speaking my mind.
It’s hard to think clearly
When you’re feeling confined.

Yes, I know that it’s selfish
To be thinking of beer,
When so much of the world
Is still living in fear.

I can only stay hopeful
That the end is not far.
And when it finally happens,
There’s still room at the bar.

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