Last Chance Saloon

The London Years

Looking back I see us run away
like drops down a windowpane
turn right out of Embankment,
left from Charing Cross – it didn’t matter
we got there just the same.

We were sliding so fast, unsure
who would hit the bottom first
what would happen when we did
and could the other ever stop
themself in time?

Then the hope flickered out
before an alcohol tsunami,
a towering wall of wine
and your fresh potential
tumbled into it, went under.

In that moment I realised
you’d never find your self-esteem
looking for another round, a final glass
and the Last Chance Saloon wasn’t
a single bar but an unbroken chain
that had long since enslaved you.