Under The Influence

Wamreba. Harboured and lilting
and there’s lovely so it is.
But Wamreba is not Llareggub
and I, alas,
am not Dylan Thomas. But
character and characters it has.

To begin at the beginning:
In the pub, on Music Night, you’ll find
Baz Lim (don’t forget him) and
Welsh Elvis,
serious and comical,
who sings high and low,
pop folk blues classical
in Welsh and English,
and self-taught Flamenco Phil
and fiddle-playing artist on the hill
Bernard Barnes
and the Italian fellow who drinks treble-gins
in pint glasses
and becomes a gin-soaked lothario.
He wants to teach the ladies a thing or two.
He tells them he loves them
and asks them to dance
(they all refuse)
then staggers home
to his dagger-eyed wife.

There are the loud bully boy voices
who talk, talk
over everything,
and those quiet souls who sit
in their own safe harbours
contemplating glasses half full.
There are those who slip in and out
(I see you) unnoticed,
and those musicians,
various varied and splendid,
who sing and play
all night and into the new day,
and, of course, Baz
who starts it off and keeps it going
so that it begins at the beginning
and ends at the end.

     The End