And here slip I --- dragging one foot in the gutter ---
In the midnight echo of the shop that sells cheap
Radios.
And there sits she --- no bed, no bread, no butter ---
On a double yellow line --- where she can park anytime.
Old Lady Grey; crash-barrier waltzer ---
Some only son's mother. Baker Street casualty.
Oh, Mr. Policeman --- blue shirt ballet master.
Feet in sticking plaster ---
Move the old lady on.
Strange pas-de-deux ---
His Romeo to her Juliet.
Her sleeping draught, his poisoned regret.
No drunken bums allowed to sleep here in the
Crowded emptiness.
Oh officer, let me send her to a cheap hotel ---
I'll pay the bill and make her well - like hell you
Bloody will!
No do-good over kill. We must teach them
To be still more independent.