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
Lanzarote,
A tuneful substitute for promises this summer
Which follows this spring is the City.
