The Chandos

Will Hatchett

This pub is London's unfriendliest scene

The decor – brown and corrupted maroon

Stacked chairs, like a junk shop or lumber room

A pool table's violent shade of green

The locals display their team's tattered flag

It’s a faded badge of hostility

Fierce pride. Grimy authenticity

Everyone hating them is their bag

A giant screen dominates every angle

Raptly, they watch inarticulate men

Prod a small white ball, gracefully

Around a vivid green rectangle

For Christ's sake don't tell them.

It’s a kind of poetry. They would kill me