Starbucks; hiss and steaming muzzles
where the thinnest person crunches
a door-shut again and again
because it’s winter, draughty, freezing.
In concrete, Canary Wharfe shudders
and a fat lady hangs an ermine coat,
spills her coffee – cappuccino.
No one mentions the gigantic puddle
until a tiny Chinese barmaid,
smiling, mops it mostly up with paper towels.
Unconscious, we avoid the messy circle,
if you call that, in your opinion,
a proper word.