THE LINE WHERE DAY MEETS NIGHT:
Maybe it was me but the city really got on my wick today!
I caught a train without eating porridge,
Never a good start,
And popped out in Oxford Circus,
Where everybody just looked in a mood,
Even the guy,
Begging at the entrance to the underground,
Looked pissed off at me,
The streets were greasy,
Like cities get after an extended spell of sun,
I found a greasy back room,
Of a greasy breakfast chain,
That served passable porridge,
And placed my order,
The lady at the counter was nice,
Totally out of place with her surroundings,
And her clientele,
Too much attitude spilling in off the street!
I squeezed in behind a greasy table in the greasy back room,
Wiped my plastic spoon with a paper napkin,
Popped the lid of my paper tea cup,
And dunked the bag,
’till the water turned Brown enough to promise a kick,
The phone,
Of the bloke next to me,
Had an annoying alert that kept going off,
A trashy little horn section thing,
That kept going on and on,
And he didn’t give a damn
(K)
