Read the Poem

I only see you here
in overspill
of pub kick-out
and last week's flyers.
Thursday nights,
this place belongs to
you and me.
I glimpse you
through the street dancers
stood alone and waiting
under neon lights
blinking in the rain.
Hazy concern
in your owlflower eyes
as I roll up,
askew as ever,
veering from Toucan to Clwb Ifor.
My cigarette stutters out
as friends move on
and I fail to focus.

I've drunk too much -
so've you.

Another wasted
opportunity.