<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Power to the People Laura\u2019s that sort of boss (she said), she\u2019s a crabby sod, As I left, I saw a sign above the door, <\/p>\n <\/strong> Power to the People Like the powdered chocolate on my cappuccino and the lightest rain on the street outside, that conversation sprinkled itself over several tables. She, the younger one, looked happier now, as she, the older one, discoursed. Laura\u2019s that sort of boss (she said), she\u2019s a crabby sod, but ten years […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-6321","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6321","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=6321"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6321\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6322,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6321\/revisions\/6322"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=6321"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=6321"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=6321"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\n<\/strong>
\nLike the powdered chocolate on my cappuccino
\nand the lightest rain on the street outside,
\nthat conversation sprinkled itself
\nover several tables.
\nShe, the younger one, looked happier now,
\nas she, the older one, discoursed.<\/p>\n
\nbut ten years back, when my friend was in the shit,
\nthey got at Laura, the girls in the workroom,
\nnudge here, cough there,
\ngot her thinking, know what I mean,
\nthen somebody came out with it,
\ntold Laura to hump off.
\nYou tell your friend about that.
\nDon\u2019t matter if she came through the comp
\nin the seventh set or what, and maybe Laura has got
\nthe fucking MBE,
\nbut there\u2019s no fucker should talk to your friend like that.
\nGet the girls in the workroom on it.
\nNudge here, hint there. Soon fix Laura.
\nYou tell your friend.<\/p>\n
\nWe hope you\u2019re leaving this coffee shop refreshed<\/em>,
\nand I thought Yesss!,
\n<\/em>breasting the sweetest drizzle
\nwith a skip and a snappy sidestep
\naround a big brown wheelie-bin outside.<\/p>\n
\n<\/strong>Robert Nisbet <\/strong>has published 100 short stories, one of which will reappear in a forthcoming Library of Wales anthology of the best Welsh short fiction of the 20th century. Some of his 100 poems appear in his chapbook, Merlin\u2019s Lane<\/em> (Prolebooks, 2011).<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"