At the window table
of this commuter village’s
dark little pub,
is where you can find me
spending my nights
, or squandering them.
I’m happy amongst the locals
who don’t talk to me.
Pen scratching at crossword
and Sudoku,
taking little sips from my pint
to make it last.
Familiar faces might nod me hello,
and I’ll nod back.
They have their chats
and I have my paper.
And I can never be a local.
