Godpintpoem

We've reached the slurring and staggering stage,
The "piss per pint," the "ever thought you're gay?"
Our lives' events commixed into a haze,
The culture in which grows philosophy.
Platonic, pensive-gazed, eyes glazed, we ponder:
"Do you believe in God? Another pint?"

We're shouting and about to get chucked out,
We can't believe each other's crude beliefs.
In mutual and gratuitous despite,
Sceptic and Symbolist life's truths dispute,
Vituperate, fight, fall, let fall a glass:
"Oh God almighty! That's my bloody pint!"

We're somehow somewhere else, arms round each other,
Brothers, hub of a blurred, sweat-smelling swirl.
There's shapes and shades, light, sound, that stupefy,
And shake up immanent, and stir transcendent.
You're real, I feel you. Hellish-hoarse you bellow:
"God's in the bog. Let's have another pint."

David Hill