1988

           1988
Watching the thick smoke

billow out from the entrance

to Victoria Station

I had just exited

I remembered the news story

of weapons and explosives 

found buried on the grounds 

of Buckingham Palace.

Later that night listening

to the low hum 

of quiet conversation

over illegal pints 

and hand-rolled fags

blinds closed

lights off in a smokey pub

short sentences in Irish accents

discussing the days’ events

punctuated

by the sharp clicks

of colliding snooker balls.
© Erik Hansen 2017

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Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing

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