I caught the bus for a doubtful journey into Leeds;
Not so bothered but need to register for more worthy.
The dole is calling my name again, but in New Year,
And now waiting time is upon me drink coffee darkly
Can’t be traveling to Seacroft along that murky route
Just to say I am of no particular use around here
Another fifty minutes lingering over rising steams
And to hear the younger ones complain in unique breath
One so unfamiliar and singular steps for Café con leche
But with a lingering tongue more romance and rose
Some clot like lips pulsate in pustulaes pink
Over witches I spend time otherwise silent
Where grinding and steaming of milk is a chorus
That is preventing the flow of reasoning think
Which if pen were held would be held aloft
Poised, but to sink like a dagger amongst our host
Repeated and repetitious strokes striking bleeds
Save you and you’re head held repose slumped decline
Which blinking at the lights over our heads
The Halogen glare is burning my shortened sight
And telling me you are in full view of the column lost
A tapping on the dust tin of old bean trust
Reminds me not to linger over long in full blends
Greening over my eyes and repairing bludgened skull
That caffeine has so far heightened too far full.
And the reason I ran for cover is to escape Xmas din
But my eargoggles I forgot in a rush to ‘the String’
Where is it dark, not jingly, kitch and gilted rust?
Not Leeds on a December cemetery rainsoaked day
So why come and pretend I am not always this way.