Sunday afternoons

Unspoken words stay lingering, living
in clouds of smoke and damp of dark wet clothes,
adults drinking beer in silence, giving
shandy to the youngsters, trying to buy
some time before they have to return home.
Sunday afternoons in sad and lonely
hours, spent on a safe distance from the wife.
Unspoken words keep hanging in the smokey pub
when finally they leave the warmth and go.
What is not said on rainy Sunday’s here
no one knows. The landlord closes shop.
It’s dark, already. Winter in the air.


Comments on: "Sunday afternoons" (10)

  1. haunting. a lovely sadness.

    • πŸ™‚ Yes, those dark brown cafΓ©’s (I used the word pub here to keep it better English but I meant cafΓ©) have this sad, but comfy feel, esp. on Sunday’s. I think.

  2. Sundays do have that melancholy feeling sometimes; you’ve captured it perfectly here. And how true it is that silence and unspoken words can be so much louder and say so much more than spoken words. I also totally agree with Latterday Psalmist’s comment. The final line is bleakly beautiful; I read it as a reference not only to the actual winter, but also the failing relationships of those escaping from their homes for few hours. Such a lot you’ve covered in a short poem!

    • Hi BH, thank you very much for your very nice comment, Silence can be so heavy, putting down shoulders.
      I always found it a shock to step out of a cafΓ© in winter to go home through the cold. I think it is called reality kicking in? πŸ™‚

  3. You have captured the feel of loneliness so perfectly in this poem.

    The atmosphere of our pubs has changed dramatically since the smoking ban. And pubs all over the country are closing down because that atmosphere has gone. The smokers do there drinking elsewhere and the non-smokers, who demanded the ban, have not replaced them.

    The village pub is becoming a thing of the past and village life is changing for the worse – the pubs are closing, the post-offices are closing and the bakeries and butchers are already long gone.


    • Hi David, hope all is well.

      It is a pity the villages are getting like that. I remember in Ruswarp, there was a shop almost empty but still going, another one that was also the post office, and a very small butcher’s that did great business. I hope it is still there.

      This poem is a bit of nostalgia I suppose. Here not many cafΓ© owners are strickt about the smoking ban, and one-staff bars still have smokers. I am a non smoker so I am not unhappy with the ban, but I don’t go out anymore like when I was young either.


  4. Wonderful. Beautiful flow of expression. This could be a Sunday afternoon anywhere…

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