The second front

Win
win
win
what a flamin’ feat
I got there just in front of him
and bagged myself a seat

It’s the little victories
that win a war.

It’s Friday
what’s he moaning for?

I’m having conversations
albeit silently
with the silent people sat
around me,

no argument about that.

And the more I see
the more I don’t want to be
here on the underground

there’s plenty of time for that
when I’m dead and gone.

The young lady sat opposite
is wearing torn jeans
I think it’s the fashion
but
when I was her age
I’d have chucked them in
the bin
win
win
win
it’s
swings and them other things
that spins.

and the old codger in the corner,
his coat displays a logo
‘North Face’
bet he won’t be climbing that
today
If clumb is a word perhaps he clings
to a time he once clumb
or is that too dumb even for me?

St Paul’s and the tube is full
maybe Paul can pull a rabbit
from his hat,
and
trim the fat
so to speak,

Weekend
West End
win,
win’s the best
or so I tend
to think.

© 2017, John Smallshaw.