Crash-Barrier Waltzer

And here slip I --- dragging one foot in the gutter ---
in the midnight echo of the shop that sells cheap
radios.
And there sits she --- no bed, no bread, no butter ---
on a double yellow line --- where she can park anytime.
Old Lady Grey; crash-barrier waltzer ---
some only son’s mother. Baker Street casualty.
Oh, Mr. Policeman --- blue shirt ballet master.
Feet in sticking plaster ---
move the old lady on.
Strange pas-de-deux ---
his Romeo to her Juliet.
Her sleeping draught, his poisoned regret.
No drunken bums allowed to sleep here in the
crowded emptiness.
Oh officer, let me send her to a cheap hotel ---
I’ll pay the bill and make her well — like hell you
bloody will!
No do-good over kill. We must teach them
to be still more independent.