getting out at at Sloane Square
into a handbag convention
i am asked by a red trim butler
or a weekend beefeater
or something else
smart and subservient
if
i
need help sir
i tell her she cant help me -
my mind is screaming
POSHICIDE!
fixie Charge Plugs are D-locked in clots
and classic SL's cruise insolently
in fire engine red
new TT's and shining A5's
rev church quiet showroom fresh
and long nose ladies prowl in pairs
in plastic Earhart shades
and thin patterned shawls
blow stylishly sideways
in movie wind machines
and times font signs
say 4 shirts 200 pounds
and art-modern shops hold one dress
in a vacuum and three colours
and a lonely manikin
posing at the till
gazes out from perfection for help
and afternoon drinkers
sip short coloured cocktails
sat in enormous window thrones
with fashionably flaking gold gilt
and the Kings Road Macdonalds
of widescreens and sofas
has hanging baskets of blooms
above the high wide porch
and the Pret is run
by a rom-com casting agent
and has steel mirrored stairs
to steel mirrored bathrooms
and would a quick handful
of painless poisonings
really matter at all ?
i'm only in this fuckburg
to see a Royal Brompton professor
about my madness anyway
so
thats
a
good
cover
right
there
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