Tea > Coffee

I strolled from Wandsworth to Ealing,

Sipping upon a Darjeeling;

Coffee, I think,

Is an inferior drink,

Which I can never taste the appeal in.

Adults Who Ride Scooters

The most beautiful woman he’d seen,

Dead or alive

(Or, at the very least, top five).

From the wheel of his Cooper

He wanted to toot her,

To evoke winged Cupid

And have the blind boy shoot her.

He needed her like new tenants

Need a wireless router,

Would gladly be neutered

To denude her of couture-

One problem.

This goddess, this starlet,

Companion of his future,

Was a grown-ass adult,

Riding a scooter.

Someone Observed on the Tube

She had the face

Of someone on the cusp

Of fame,

Eyes vying for space with cheeks,

Eyes very convex, like fishbowls

Granted centrepiece,

Granted the entire sweep of

Her adoring oglers.

Her trousers were maroon leather;

I thought it clever how they matched her handbag.

Bad Eggs

Whisking up the northern line,

An egg in every seat;

I’d like to crack their stipples shells

To get at that white meat.

Whisking up the northern line,

An egg has cracked itself;

The kind of egg my mother has

Me put back on the shelf.

Whisking up the northern line,

One clucks into its phone;

This egg will make bad omelettes

And underglaze a scone.