The New Slip Inn/The Pub with No Beer

Walking home past the village church, I'm drawn to the lamplit window in the cottage opposite, the old blacksmith's — before that a pub: The New Slip Inn.(How come, this far from a waterway?) The interior is bedecked with memorabilia that materialise, hammer and tongs in the glow from a fire, wooden bellows pumping the vision into life. Then it cools, but somehow softens. It has the feel of something dimly remembered, windows opened in an old calendar. I lean
in to put right one of the slipped horseshoes that has spilled its luck, making the world turn