Lunchtime

Lunchtime Walking lines, people smother, All steepled high, One upon another, Going one way or t'other, Whilst speaking on phones, Avoiding the cones, Attached to their drags, Don’t step on the cracks, The hard office hats, Brief case, shopping bags, Some sitting down, Some smoking fags. Some looking around, Cackling hags. Walking in circles, round the square in the park, Its here that I watch them, a lonesome young clerk.