Bonus Time

Bonus time follows spring
   Cheapside’s peace threatened by sheep
Masses of small specks flooding a green field
  Beneath the Barbican.
A man walks down Cornhill muttering
   About borrowings, buys the evening paper, decides
To hurl a brick through the window of the
   Jampot where he used to drink with ghostly
Organists like Mendelssohn.
   In his head, too, he is reciting nonsense verse:
Who gets what and who exactly are the sheep, the goats,
   The elephants?
Beautiful Miss Hunt crosses her legs repeatedly,
   Distracting the head of personnel,
A forty something territorial with a mistress in Finance,
   Who credits the group with five rather than six.
On this basis: marry me to it.
   Kitchens promised: wives to wait, the holiday in
A tuneful substitute for promises this summer
   Which follows this spring is the City.

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