The landlord smiles

They look a bunch of toughs,
these guys, red-cheeked,
strutting, chests out, like cockerels.
Already drunk, by noon
they laugh in pork pie hats.

Their eyes are bloodshot, noses swollen,
pockmarked with the corrosive booze
of long years. Their jokes are coarse,
take cheap shots at women
and immigrants.

Self importantly they cruise
the public houses,
puffed up,
in search of inanity,
exchanging pithy barbs,
and seeking revelation,
In the bottom of  another glass.
Meanwhile while their bodies turn their beer
To gas and pee.
The landlord smiles his sly welcome,
rolls out his bonhomie,
and cheers them on.