Warwick barman's poem sums up the frustrations of life in lockdown - and how much he misses his regulars

It's a tough time for pubs across the Warwick district.

With the whole of Warwickshire being under the highest Covid-19 restrictions, pubs and cafes have been forced to close, offering only a takeaway service.

Tom Buxton is a barman at The Cape of Good Hope in Warwick and has written a poem from the perspective of a barman in lockdown.

It is already becoming popular so we wanted to share it with you.

Tom's poem:

Shout out to the regulars,

The every so oftens

And blue mooners.

The ones that grumble in through the door,

And the ones that leave as crooners.

To the ones who are always ones and the ones that come as twos.

To the ones that I act up for just to fade your blues.

To the ones who keep me waiting as you count your change slurring,

You know its the same price as yesterday, and the day before, recurring...

To the ones who thank me for all I do,

And buy me a drink because you say I deserve it.

What you don't know is how much you do for me.

Honest, you underestimate it.

To your umpteenth time claiming 'this is my last'..

Over the 10 'last' half pint glasses looking useless on your table.

And my umpteenth time shouting ' drink up, fast!'.

Wondering if you can get home or are unable.

Here's to the ones that look over protective as someone raises their voice.

To the ones who I watch cross the lock at closing.

I wish that was not your choice.

To the Geezers, the Dave's, the John's and Steve's.

The ones keeping it real and the ones that wont leave.

To the fast mouth obscenities back n forth with a smile,

To the burns that we say which actually, really mean...

Oh hey man, i missed you, haven't seen you in a while!

To the ones who have been and now are sadly gone,

Ill never forget your drinks or your jokes

And I promise..

Every so often,

I'll put your song on.

To the ones I talk conspiracies and the ones I talk c**p,

To the sirs, ladies, mates, mans and that chap,

Here's to you all, as im sat here waiting.

Legs irritable, no one to insult, no hands to watch shaking.

Here's to me writing this poem for all the ones 'cos I miss you,

Here's to ten minutes into my first shift back when I'll just want to kill you.

You don't get to choose your regulars,

But here's to the ones I got.

My psychologist suggested poetry,

So I gave it a shot.

By Tom Buxton

Age 33