From out of the weather
into the quiet
of the St. James Tavern-
as through a decompression chamber-
we escape the noise of the city.
The only sounds are the clink of ice,
clunk clunk clunk of the billiard tables,
and murmur of voices over
the pull of the tap and roll of the surge.
voices and laughter seem soft and sacred as in the nave of a church.
Where connections are forged
under dim lights and electric vibes.
A haven where monsters need not apply.
A happy Sunday to all! As we used to say before the pandemic, it's Sunday Funday. Can we bring it back? Or as Poets & Storytellers United ask, start over again?