This is a poem about needing a drink – needing as distinct from just wanting one. I don’t normally like fancy lay-outs but somehow the pattern of lines seemed important for this piece, perhaps because it chimes in with the feeling of obsession that underpins the poem. It could of course be about all sorts of other addictions besides alcohol. The poem won second prize in a competition organised by Envoi magazine last year.

Happy Hour

Again, from somewhere,
the amber idea
has
sidled
up
filled waiting mindspace,
blunted this morning’s curiosity.

Once conceived the notion nags,
weaves tendrils through all other thoughts
crouched
down
there
tight as a balled root,
fixed as a fat tick.

Need fidgets
like too much change in a trouser pocket:
its restless
breathless
presence
strung taut across the mind’s wires
grows gimlet sharp.

But, at the bar at last,
for five full minutes or maybe more
it’s pure magic
celestial bliss
supernal blessing
optimism in a straight-sided glass
and stillness settles like dew on parched grass.