Somehow the apocalypse started when I opened up, After sweeping the floors late at night ready for an early start.

Somehow the infection took hold in the rush hour, Just as the first punters come in.

A new vaccine introduced earlier in the week

offered a cure to ageing, Or so they said on the news.

I barely heard the giant screen humming beneath chatter,

Hurrying to fill glasses I paid little attention to the words.

Somehow, however, the apocalypse started in the morning;

Mart day in our small village lost in the west of Ireland.

Cattle were dropped off and men came in for their pints,

Avoiding the arduous task of selling their herd.

Martin was waiting at the door when I arrived, unshaven.

Waders on his legs from a fishing trip last week; No time for home or hygiene as he had pints to drink, And stories to tell.

Somehow Paddy was in the door before I had opened up.

The landlord must have opened the back door early, Perhaps he had heard the news before the school run.

Martin and Paddy found a spot in the corner.

Paddy, I hear, had been kicked to the curb by his wife, She was after his money and land, or so he said.

He had only the clothes on his back and a rusty, red van.

Martin laughed.

Perhaps they had not heard the news.

Somehow life continued as normal outside of the dark windows;

People bustled about the small streets, children hurried to school,

And the smell of cattle saturated the humid air as I served.

Paddy had odd socks on.

The infection was surely heading our way!

Michael staggered through the door, drunk from the night before.

His crutches barely held his huge frame, He had lost his toes.

Michael complained about the packed hospital and bacteria.

I suspect he has diabetes, but he said nothing.

He would not get served!

Somehow Dermot arrived in yesterday’s clothes (and last weeks!)

Martin told Michael that Dermot ‘is back on the beer’ and both tutted.

I said nothing.

The rain thickened and a dark cloud swirled above, Thunder cracked outside as the infection raged, People scampered.

Voices raised as drinks were sunk.

No one mentioned the apocalypse.

The craic was good, the old boys put socks over

Martin’s shoes,

He woke confused, then annoyed.

The smell of sweat thickened,

Just like the roaring clouds that consumed the illfated sky.

Somehow the toilet roll landed in the smoking area and unravelled.

Music from the jukebox drowned out racing on the screens,

And the giddy men had to shout to hear one another’s words.

People must have been scared; families in panic.

The schools closed.

Paddy and Martin went for food, I was concerned but tied to the bar.

After some time, they fell back in the door, no infected followed.

Banter flowed as fast as the beer and time moved rapidly in a haze.

I checked my phone; the news service was down, No government?

Somehow the day rolled into night and we were unharmed.

No one else came in, normally this would be unusual. This was not a normal or usual day;

Apocalypse or Armageddon, but no one inside seemed to notice.

Occasionally screams from outside rang in my ears, desolate,

Figures ran as if in pursuit or being pursued, Shadily passing our sanctuary.

Somehow, we made it to closing, unharmed and

unscathed,

Perhaps a little worse for wear.

Intoxicated, we locked up.

Feeling rough, our small gang of bandits staggered to the takeaway.

The glass was smashed, alarms buzzed cruelly.

Somehow the few people left avoided us,

Somehow, they ran from us, Somehow, they screamed in terror, As we fed hungrily on their flesh.