|
piping hot says the waiter
glumly you must think me daft
o credulous ones look at all this disrepair this ruin
now your glad rags cost you eight bob and a tanner
etc. you turn off the telly and sit like a Mallarmé
poem
prestigious are the fears and
if any man comes with a sign
to paper it is risen old Atlantis tide and time forgot
but not old credit and the wherewithal to back it up
from such as sees it like and likes what it sees
|