Where have all the sofas gone? by Bettina Schroeder

in Poetry/Spotlight

Where have all the sofas gone,

all the bar stools that we set upon?

Axminster carpets, wall to wall

that muffled the sound

so we could tell all:

“had a blind date in a pub

and on detection

he had an erection.

It was love at first sight

for one fucking good night.”

.

Where have all the sofas gone,

all the bar stools that we set upon?

Burgundy wall paper, flocked and fine,

Liebfrauenmilch and dodgy French wine.

Brains sharpened like pencils

by cigarettes and beer

and after elections

we lost no affections

on Thatcher or smooth talking Blair.

It was hate at first sight

then and there we plotted to fight.

.

Where have all the sofas gone,

all the bar stools that we set upon?

worn out library chairs with wings

where sad ones whine and whinge,

creepy corners to cuddle and snog,

slide your hand up somebodies frock.

The shock at eleven

last order calls

from Scotland to Devon

‘to whom the bell tolls’

into the cold night we stroll.

.

Where have all the sofas gone?