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