At Gypsy's pub (my poem)
While listening to Johny Cash
I travel to where Gypsy's pub is
The old man ever quiet behind the bar
amid bottles of rum and whisky
serving those with nowhere to go
Contemplating the dark outlines
around the Mediterranean blue
mindful of not being noticed once
now away from festive lights
I know they too will fade away
once I open my eyes for another day