Bess the Barmaid’s Bid for Freedom

If I slipped into your silk lined pockets
before you leave the bar
would you walk me home through the quiet streets;
past the lamplit parks with their borders neat.
Would you take me away from the drugs and the dregs;
from the cheap cigars and the beer kegs;
from the motley crews who spend their nights
drinking their way into countless fights;
from the guy in the corner who stinks of piss –
would you take me away from this?
If I curled up in the corner like a little ball of fluff
would it be enough
to be somewhere I felt soft and safe;
barefoot like a little waif
and when your manicured hand
reached for your keys
would you ever so gently brush my cheek.
Would I dare to speak your name at last
or would the moment pass and slip away
as night steals gently into day
and I find myself in the bar once more
polishing glasses and scrubbing floors
and hoping today will be the day
that I somehow manage to stow away.


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