Under The Influence

I am in Wamreba.
Harboured and lilting and there’s lovely though it is,
Wamreba is not Llareggub
and I, alas,
am not Dylan Thomas. But,
character and characters it has.

To begin at the beginning:
In the pub, on Music Night, you’ll find
Barry Lim (don’t forget him) and
Welsh Elvis,
serious and comical,
who sings high and low,
pop folk blues classical
in Welsh and English,
and self-taught Flamenco Phil
and fiddle-playing artist on the hill
Bernard Barnes
and the Italian Man who drinks treble-gins
in pint glasses
and becomes a gin-soaked genius.
He wants to teach the ladies a thing or two.
He tells them he loves them
and asks them to dance
(they all refuse)
then staggers home
to his dagger-eyed wife.

There are the loud bully boy voices
and those who sit in their own safe harbours
all night. There are those who slip in and out
(I see you) unnoticed,
and those most modest and multi-talented musicians,
by this I mean Chris
and, of course, Barry
who starts it off and keeps it going
so that it begins at the beginning
and ends at the end.

The End