On Mathew Street

Looking soft and bored,
a paunchy doorman stands
outside the Cavern Club
on Mathew Street.
Behind him
is a 'no drugs' sign.
Ironic given
who the fans have come
in search of, even though
they won't be here.
The doorman lets them pass
in twos and threes.
We don't go in.
Outside the Grapes,
in floppy Sixties hat,
a pretty woman calls
in loudest Scouse
to a bloke who looks
nearly destitute.
He slips her charlie.
She returns two notes.
In the Apple pub,
my food is close to charcoal,
but I don't complain.
I tip the waitress, actually.
After all these years
I am in Liverpool,
on the mis-spelt street
where the Beatles played.
It would take more
than a bloody napkin
and a toothache
to kill my buzz today.