Crouched between the table & the wall
with his eyes in his hands
& his mouth in the shape of a small
barren island in the Atlantic Ocean
he waits for the blow to fall
Opposite him in the angle formed
by a filing cabinet & a drinks dispenser
a tiny furry creature does the rat-fink-a-boo-boo
its eyes blinking furiously
its ears revolving like an out-of-control radar station
Somewhere a radio plays
& a voice gabbles something about moonshine
& binge drinking & little green men out of Upminister
who are SERIOUSLY NO SERIOUSLY GONNA F--- YOU UP MAN
Later there will be music & lights & long legged
lovelies will strut their funky stuff across the walls
while a siren sounds in the street below
& the woodentops come calling
cudgels primed for some hardcore ultraviolence