Madonna’s on a bender sending signals to her saviour who’s sat in the corner seat,
on a tube?
The jubilee at five fifteen,
a scene like every scene I’ve seen
when I’ve been here at five fifteen.
I try to cut up shut up but it’s quiet anyway
so I type these notes into an iPhone,
there’s a hum but no ho, the electric motor makes this go, I wish they’d fit me up with one,
then I could just go on and what’s so wrong with that?
She looks like a worrier looking for the terrier, he has a beard growing out from his chin.
The shifty man scratches his head wondering if
he left his eyes in bed,
he can’t tell until he opens them and takes a look.
Madonna’s getting off
I suppose she’s had enough
or it could be that she’s reached
Two girls with two suitcases
long arms and longer faces
no holiday for them
I must be one of one of many,
the penny finally drops
And now a band begins to play,
Romanian I’d say
because I’ve heard them once
© 2019, John Smallshaw.