The Pub

He spots you from the pub door,

And calls you in for pints,

"Come, come in young man,

And have the craic and more."

He stands there daily,

Looking at the rain and sun,

Watching the children and young,

Pass him so gaily.

"Come, come in," he'll say,

Puffing a smoke in hand,

There from opening to close,

There every single day.

He'll beckon and call,

To friends he's never made,

Hoping for connection,

Over stout, nuts, and football.

He'll sadly shuffle back inside,

Back into the dark,

Where all old men go in the end,

To be together and hide.

#HI