Up north there's this thing called queuing Down south it looks more like ******* looting I can see the trouble brewing Squeezing on the tube – can't even get my ******* shoe in Some of these miserable ******* look like they need shooting Stuck on the northern line back to Tooting
A sidewalk canvas Half done slush An oil slick Twice frozen ice And boots that slip A train just missed The red eyes glare Rain that floats In sour air Brutalized concrete Bleeding rust Filthy floors And alley walls Spent cigarettes In every nook Steel that shrieks In cold protest Blue lights And a defiant poet On every corner
Little girl peeling in Orange in traffic with your favorite fingernail I love to watch you attack tear off the skin chunks and save them in a jar in your car because the smell makes you feel so far away it's very clean-smelling This cold little orange it's a dragon ball in dragon hands
The riled route master and the hacked off hackney carriage weren't bothered by the boris bike, they simply barreled along the bus lane oblivious to the wobble, blind to the blindsided and bent on beating the amber to red, til they were halted by the growth factor of a chelsea tractor straddling lanes and field testing the choice of right or left and failing the screen test set by the sat nav, thereby giving opportunity to the swarm of office staffers snatching their chance and chancing their luck, dancing past with their fat chance of swiping in before nine and avoiding the chagrin of the boss who's been the bane of their short sojourn through the city of lost dreams, chance encounters, thin fortune and rushed hours. This is London.
Route Master = a London bus Hackney Carriage = a black cab Boris Bike = rentabike Chelsea tractor = an oversized suv preferred by families who can afford Kensington & Chelsea
Of all known tyrannies, This is the most airy, Each word from this day forward, Will be silk coated More carefully chosen Whispered from a kingdom up high, There are many feelings weaker than, My hand upon yours, Our eyes meeting, I cannot wait to hear your heart's music, And for it to be recognised for what it is, Your steps will be the music that gives me strength, With you, The world has less sharp edges harsh looks,
"The daily grind is so hard" He whined "Work and raising kids isn’t easy" She opined "Deirdre got your promotion" He snitched "I heard Dave got yours?" She ******* "I hate this **** job" He sighed "So look for another" She cried "Maybe tomorrow" He lied "You'll do it one day" She lied “Stop tapping your foot” He snapped “Stop looking at her” She flapped "What's for tea?" He assumed "Why ask me?" She fumed "Can't believe it's only Monday" He moaned "If I hear that again..." She intoned "Shall we get a takeaway?" He enlightened "Oh, I love you" She brightened “Love you too” He cooed “Kisses to you” She blew "See you tonight, love" He winked "You will, my lover" She pinked
Midday watercooler meeting Frosty silence skin broken Domestic warfare so fleeting Morning car row forgotten Like work-a-day sheep At end of day meet, then Takeaway, home, sleep Up tomorrow, do it again