My glass

is centre stage

I reach for the bottle

& they watch the pour

couple of inches

some atavistic rite

libation to the gods

in the spill

as we settle again

& I speak into the silence

the Spanish civil war

has separate state roots

that go back into the ages

& if we forget that

then we lose understanding

of why

when people

are forced together

this creates revolutions


mortal woundings

& bitterness

that crosses the centuries

I see them nodding

& go for the kill

that is why

my love life is a ruin

I have poor relationships…

& they smile

& I wonder

is it for the glass

or its contents?

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