Pissed as a Newt

The pub garden has pools
of spilt sky; the wooden tables
are rotting, the fixed benches
as immovable as rock.

Shadeless windows glare
in the midday sunlight,
making bar-proppers blink
and call for reed shutters.

The day’s fight starts early, 	
with a fast-flicking reptile
tail, riling a legless lizard
lazing in the lounge.

The last newt standing 
slams down his acorn tankard
and crawls behind the bar 
to pour a fresh absinthe.

A force not to be messed with,
he lets the gravity of upturned
stools pass him by 
and hiccups another optic.

The Newton’s Inn sign 
creaks with years of rust;
two more letters fall
face-down in the dust.



BIOGRAPHY: Sarah James is a poet, fiction writer and photographer. Her latest collection, Blood Sugar, Sex, Magic (Verve Poetry Press), is partially inspired by having type one diabetes since she was six. For her, good laughter is a natural medicine. Her website is at www.sarah-james.co.uk.