Afternoon

The afternoon is fat with dull
It's caved edge like a raided tomb 
Shows where brilliance went
And stuffed barstools bear 
Their loads like a lost key
Or the slow return of flooded land
Leaving particles of plastic
21st century sand.

To the barman then a round
And go home to houses
shaking in the cold holding hosts 
in half bitten mouths
afraid to swallow.

There are tales in those bricks
stories in the cracks
But they're always holding back