by Marc Carver
A group of men come into the pub in Mornington crescent.
They are old,
but looking back on glory days.
It is like watching the carriages of a train
still in and in they come.
I go upstairs to the toilet
it is one of those victorian staircases,
only big enough for one.
I meet one of the gang that just came in,
he is big.
"I think we may struggle here mate." I say.
"I will go back up." He says.
As I pass him I say.
"I am getting a bit portly."
"Are you taking the piss?" He says.
"No I wouldn't do that." I tell him.
But neither of us