116/ How did I get here

I walk to the fruit-machine along the pier.
And in the TV bar
the players are in at half-time,
the stadium lights shine,
the night skies darkening behind.
And when will the people watching football
realise they’ve seen it all before?
How did I get here, sat alone
when my friend is drinking with nice-looking her,
takes a photo on his mobile, heads together,
puts his hand on her knee:
“You’re having a nice time, aren’t you?”