On the afternoon of my birthday
I approach the packed pub table
taking in the familiar faces.
Ernest Hemingway regales the group
with a tale of his Paris days
James Joyce shakes his head,
declaring that\'s not how it happened at all.
Simon Armitage sips his pint
insisting the best beer is made in Yorkshire
and don\'t get me started on Yorkshire tea.
Ted Hughes adds that there is magic in the Yorkshire rain.
Emily Dickinson shares a poem
beautiful moving and sad.
Charles Bukowski says its time for another round
of drinks, and he\'ll have a double.
John Cooper Clarke checks the time on his watch.
He\'ll have one for the road
before catching his bus back to Salford.
When it is time to leave
I pack up all my poetry books
Happy birthday
I say to myself.