In My Car

battered car

In my car that’s taken me far, along miles and miles of tar. I sing to the radio and tap on the wheel, press on the break to bring it to heal. It takes me to work and to play, and sometimes takes me out for the day. I don’t want to change it in any way. I just want my old car to stay. Dented and battered it never will end, for it is indeed a good friend.

It’s not the trend but I can pretend and make do and mend, cos my car will go far on this tar even though the number plate says R. oh where would I be without my friend, I love my battered old car.


My Brew

Hand grips the wooden handle. Other angles the glass under the brass spout in anticipation of the nectar that will flow out.

Arm pulls down to release the brew then lifts to pull a new. The froth Wells up as it hits the bottom of the glass and then through its self will pass. White frothy head forms on top of this fermented hop, sitting on dark brown like the king with a crown.

The glass stands on the bar contents settling ready for my lips to pass. The first sip strong but smooth my dry throat it will soon sooth. More I drink it’s so smooth, wipe the froth from my lips I don’t care if it goes on my hips.

Down the edge of the glass the head sticks slowly sliding to meet the brew. Then the glass is tipped he bottom is see through, its time to order another brew or two.

The pump delivers more liquid to the glass and is exchanged once again for brass. This pint is real class savour each mouth full don’t let the taste pass, slowly the brown king with its crown goes down.