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Someone wrote a poem to Wetherspoon's, and yes, it is extremely terrible

Put this on my gravestone

Someone wrote a poem to Wetherspoon's, and yes, it is extremely terrible
Tom Victor
21 July 2017

One of the first rules of poetry is that the more relatable it is, the more popular it is likely to be.

It is for this reason that, over the last few centuries, some of the greatest poems around have covered truly universal topics. You know the sort of thing: love; war; religion; Wetherspoon’s.

The pub chain is one of the UK’s great unifiers, bringing together those on the left and the right of the political spectrum over bottomless filter coffees and affordable beer and burger deals. It’s not always everyone’s first choice, but few will complain at ending up there.

And it’s only fitting for the first (to our knowledge) poem about ‘Spoons is as does-what-it-says-on-the-tin as the chain itself.

Whatever you want to say about Claire Yates’ magnum opus, you can’t deny that it’s definitely a poem.

It fulfils everything associated with the definition of the word – rhymes, meter, basic structure – without any unnecessary extra flair or intricacies. Much in the same way that your standard Wetherspoon’s beer and burger deal eschews fancy toppings and brings you meat, bread and salad arranged in the proper order.

That said, we do have a couple of questions:

  • Why is there no mention of the food or drink until just before the final stanza?
  • Only ‘usually’ leaving with a smile on their face? What is Claire keeping from us?
  • That last line – is she a fan of a successful British business, deeming the other aspects purely incidental? Sure, the food, drink and company are all more than adequate, but isn’t it nice that Wetherspoon’s founder Tim Martin is doing well for himself.

And speaking of Tim, his response is somehow both personal and distant, finding the right balance for something like this.

He acknowledges it’s a poem, but not only that – to prove his point, he names another poem right away, even reciting a rhyming couplet.

There’s no getting past him.

(Images: Rex Features)