The Personal Space of U668857 «
Oranges and Lemons
I still see the old whore now and then -
she's had so many face-lifts down the years -
in the grab and choke
of her traps and dens
she's still anyone's MILF for a buck.
Her used-up customers are spent -
one-time regulars,
she's thrown back to the streets,
are now the nuisance beggars
down the Strand, past the Savoy,
boxed-up in cardboard beds.
Despite her hard-edged detachment
I've occasionally caught her off-guard:
once in a late hour of wine-soaked memory
and once when the mirror didn't lie;
she held the hurting moment
almost pleased with its novel pain -
how we hide in crowded time
to catch the faint and fleeting strain
of something beautiful and precedent;
like that innocuous day on the Strand
when the sudden bells of St Clement's
struck-up a half-forgotten far-off tune
returning me to the ripe wonder
of Oranges and Lemons,
and her ageless streets paved with gold.
she's had so many face-lifts down the years -
in the grab and choke
of her traps and dens
she's still anyone's MILF for a buck.
Her used-up customers are spent -
one-time regulars,
she's thrown back to the streets,
are now the nuisance beggars
down the Strand, past the Savoy,
boxed-up in cardboard beds.
Despite her hard-edged detachment
I've occasionally caught her off-guard:
once in a late hour of wine-soaked memory
and once when the mirror didn't lie;
she held the hurting moment
almost pleased with its novel pain -
how we hide in crowded time
to catch the faint and fleeting strain
of something beautiful and precedent;
like that innocuous day on the Strand
when the sudden bells of St Clement's
struck-up a half-forgotten far-off tune
returning me to the ripe wonder
of Oranges and Lemons,
and her ageless streets paved with gold.
