Nobody admits it,

Nobody admits it,

Especially on a hot day

When the ice melts

In the glass

Before you have a chance

To finish the drink.

The barman is on the lookout

For a tip

And you don’t need to ask

Before you have another one.

But it doesn’t lift the mood

Everyone is talking too loud

Sits too close

Smells of aftershave and new shoes

Wears a lipstick smile with ju-ju eyes

Deceptively open,

You keep yours

In a vest pocket

With a crib sheet.

There are no single women

At the bar

They come as a pair

But guys wearing tight shirts

Never seem to care

And muscle in on private conversations.

It seems to get harder

To raise enthusiasm

Every night

The struggle in front of the mirror

The reluctance to engage

In small talk

Even with old friends.

You argue with your reflection

About the pointlessness

Of making an effort

But never admit to it.

Even as the sleaze on the make

Slips a Mickey into a redhead’s drink

All you do is spill it

Make it look accidental

Follow him to the loo

Smack him hard

Face down in the sink

Tell him you know his name

And where he lives

Tell him to piss off and never come back.

A vigilante

But never a snitch,

Where is the sense in that

Tomorrow he will be waiting

With a friend

To kick seven bells out of you

And you’ll wake up lying in a gutter

Off Lime Street

Behind the station without a wallet

Grateful to be in pain,

Most of the time you feel numb

Lacking spontaneity

Or an original thought,

Feeling

Too low to reach the bottom

But you never admit it

Not to yourself

Or on a speed date,

When your tongue is glued

To the roof of your mouth.

Never online

Or on a Sunday

Or at the writers' group on Monday

Conflict resolution

On Thursday

If you can be arsed

Not that you would ever admit it

But the truth would be

Any day of the week

That ends with a why

Is not the answer

To the question

You never admit to