people look so silly under the spell
of friday's grooving radio hum:
they trip and fall over miles of tiles
when gin tins leave their shoes untied;
its showtime under the ambergreen lights!

seven o'clock and motor breath
turns to head-seeking missiles, i duck
under a stop where frostbite seeks
to hide its fingers in my socks
"i'm not ready to end!"

"it hasn't yet begun!"
seven twenty and here's my bus!
a giant metal knight with wiper swords
and a two-door parting shield
... i check if my feet have healed

engines ruminate over their revolutions
and rumble and grumble on deaf ears
cautionary tales of last week's anteeks...
but not all roads lead to rome, fortunately,
some lead to queen's square

...my toes are warm now