Drinking Saturday night - Arncliffe* Hotel
The usual crowd set out to drink their fill,
I was amongst them doing this as well
(Like so many pigs at their yeasty swill).
Though drinking is its special brand of hell
It's something that I will do sometimes still.
I was alone indulging in my sin
When suddenly (it seemed) that love walked in.

Insensible of this I saw her not
In my own little world so unaware.
Alone with my thoughts in polyglot
Just drinking at my table sitting there.
Poets - sometimes - they talk a lot of rot
And go some places that you wouldn't dare.
I was twenty five, and this was long ago -
Memories are cold now - like a drift of snow.

An innocent request - a game of pool
(She didn't need to ask me twice) I said:
"Of course my dear Sydney one shot rules"
(She had designs on taking me to bed).
I could see it in her eyes - like sparkling jewels -
And sense it on her pouting lips of red.
Although neither of us was very chaste
Sometimes its nice to be the one whose chased.

One thing lead to another (so you see)
"Your mine tonight" (she told me more than once).
Events I now recall in poetry:
(In these kind of situations one must pounce
Or miss forever opportunity).
I slowed my drinking of the fluid ounce
(To let her catch up now in her imbibing) -
And marveled at my luck; - it was surprising.

Before I go on now I best describe
This damsel of the night from long ago.
The compass of her beauty circumscribed
In this my muse (good reader) for you now.
Her hair was dark brunette, her hips were wide
An hourglass figure, and fuzzy down below.
Her skin was white - like the stone alabaster -
When I asked her name - she told me - it was Lisa.

Why hang around in pubs with such strange girls?
We didn't stay there long (needless to say).
And like a love match was this game of pool
To serve a purpose - this was our foreplay.
Her hair was long in ringlets and in curls -
(We felt the spark that night - our chemistry).
And luckily (for me) she lived not far -
Who says you can't find beauty in a bar?




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