Wet.

“This bar’s wet. This BAR’S WET!!”
I cared not, kept my head down and my elbow out of the way
“This BAR’S WET!!” she continued
forcing the moustachioed face of the barman from his Independent
the front window was boarded up, but the growls and the howls of
traffic continued to filter in
below the door as the night drew in, an hour earlier than yesterday
And in that blackness, somewhere
John Lennon was still dead
the Ebola virus was causing beard bedraggled experts to scratch their chins
and several unfortunates to scratch their names from the electoral roll;
in deserts, men with bronzed skin dug in deep
flicking the catches from M-40’s and splicing wires together
politics were turning right all over
and common sense was being left
out in the cold
actresses were watching their naked glories
being shared across the world,
which displeased them greatly
while others gazed at their works
and felt a tug of love.
The disabled were being told they were no longer able to be fed
the top 6% owned 99% of it all;
but the bar was wet, which caused a great deal of consternation
and gave everybody something to complain about.