This poem describes a lunchtime game of dominos witnessed in a Pub called The Victoria in northern England.

Up go the dominoes,
Into his hands,
Covered by the right,
A ring on each finger,
Ill-assorted array!
They glint as he downs to the table,
Following, Morris smiles
Through bushy beard,
Eyes mischievously aglow,
Down another domino.
Controversial this?
Sure, his eyes spell it,
And all display surprise.
Next that friendly pair,
Betty both to me,
Down dominoes successively.
So, back to Barry comes the game,
Simple banter following along,
I’m knocking,
No twos or threes…
And then, suddenly,
Morris is out.

© Copyright, February 2014, Jane Stansfeld