Drinking up time
On the centenary of Einstein's Theory of Relativity

Back then we spent our Friday nights
down at the Goat and Compasses.
Albert, the gaffer, moved among us
collecting empties and calling:

Hurry up, please, it's time-space.
Ain't you got no homes to go to?
Last tram may or may not be about
to leave. Or just left. How we laughed.

Just the once we went to the Rising Sun.
When the landlord acted like he was god,
we played dice until he told us to stop.
He didn't even get his own joke.

We asked why the clock behind the bar
always said twenty to eleven. Is it because
we're moving away from it at light speed?
No, he said. The clock's broke.