Small
always whiskey bottle beside the steel ashtray
the mirrors under the settee arm end out
butter melting by the fire dogs hair blankets
and the smell of roasted pheasant simmering
soup clink teacups with red hunting scenes
always the woodbine tarring steel ashtray
and the brown fingers pointing gesturing
at the story or blue joke the room too small
cannot hold the joy or the sorrow and dogs
too small for the rough logged broad hands
always tinned biscuits smelt soft coconut
whiskey tea dipped chin caught crumbs
mopped by the tongue increasingly toothless
and the gentleman's brush back dash hair
trimmed in the kitchen adorned pink towel
always hanging on the door back washed
with dog blankets when the laughter
reached its peak it would cut at a swiping
hand brushing a dog from it's growling
reflection mirrors under the arm of settee
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