I don't know what it is with me and pub graffiti this week but here's another example from the bathroom of The Lavender in Vauxhall. I haven't been to any pubs in a while, believe it or not, (too many nights in The Roundhouse bar post-Shakespeare) and had forgotten about the spontaneous acts of art, vandalism and philosophy that relieving oneself of one's cold drinks inspires.

The thing that struck me about this rather ferocious, half-revealed, snarling, canine/reptilian/avian beast gouged into the wall is that it could be an illustration of one of my poems, also called 'Unleashed'. The poem is about 'the thing'. You know the 'thing' we all have, we all fear, we all seek to control but which always gets loose? You know what it is.

Unleashed

The years we kept it out the back — chained to the stake,
the firkin well within the reach of searching lips
and agile tongue; the years its oily fur grew rich
against the rain, and talons kept in check upon
the family tombstone propped aslant the drystone wall;
the years we fed it titbits from the table and dared
to pat its lengthening snout — were peaceful on the whole.

One restless night you saw the circle it had worn,
felt for the collar and finally unclasped our hold.
It pounced from the chain and the mist took its tracks.
So now we’re blamed for the trampled crops, the upturned bins
and gutted sheep; there’s been a sighting near the school
and at dusk the torches in the woods, the hue and cry,
the ancient howl, let us know that it’s near,
though it may not know where it belongs or how to hunt or who to trust
or how to find its way back to us, even if it wanted to.

From Los Alamos Mon Amour 

From the classically tiled walls of The Ten Bells, Spitalfields: a little bit of feedback for drinkers of shandy and 'lager (or bitter) top'. I withhold all judgement; I just liked the black on white type.