London Morning

Grey and the traffic’s bad.
No time to put the kettleonandhaveacuppatea.
Racing with the rats,
pulsing city not even awake.

Blank bus driver stare.
Not even a goodmorningmissywelcomeonboard.
Squeeze on, squeeze down,
stand zombie, stand.

Inky fingers dark like the sky.
No good news, no sharesgoupandhousepricesdown.
Sharpen elbows and turn pages.
Eat the news for breakfast.

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