The Designer’s Arms

Face-lifted now, the village pub
    Is brighter, spick and span,
With one-armed bandits, basket-grub,
    And brasses (from Taiwan).

There's reproduction guns and prints
    As atmosphere-suppliers,
 Plus lots of pretty pastel tints
    And (log-effect) gas fires.

Of what once was, not much remains
    Inside the old Blue Boar −
The loos are labelled Maids or Swains
    With two-tone matched décor.

But still, despite stuck-on fake beams
   Kitsched-up to catch the eye,
The prices that they charge, it seems,
   Are genuinely high.

Jerome Betts

If you have any thoughts about this poem, Jerome Betts would like to hear them.