Philistines on a Friday

in the corner

in the leather chair

a glass of water

on a table

round and marbled

I hide

from prying eyes

from dubious tongues

words and gossip

alas, lunch is over

well, almost over

though a glass of red

would go down well

except, those eyes have

a sense of smell

if no other kind…. of sense

tiny minds making lots

of noise… no sense

just that constant echo….

but, I’m too tired to be

even bothered

Friday afternoons are too important



Thatcher Doran




About pmisteil

Hi, my name is Paul though I write under other names like, Thatcher and Paolo, I love literature, art and architecture their passion and drama....the contradictions. The notion of Truth-who is the person behind the mask? Or does it matter! I like long walks and longer conversations over cappuccinos in a cafe with atmosphere and the rest is a journey!
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s