Said the woman with the mouse-shaped lips
Underneath the table, she was feeding her Rottweiller chips
It was almost more than I could bear
And I took in a sackful of coalblack air
That had rested amidst the vacuum of space
Where the miller and his barefoot daughter ran apace
And the water ran beneath the wooden bridge.
I reached into my pulsing fridge,
I removed from there twelve loaves and lox
And constructed upon a bleached, beached box
The remnants of a sandwich castle,
Through which a passel
Of tourists roamed,
Who had recently been combed
Having not long before been given their walking papers
And set to the streets after their morning vapors.
And the boats shot across the Thames and the buses
Swerved past museums full of blunderbusses
And I stroked your hair and I gasped for air
And I closed the car door on a burst of perfume
That seemed to spell the lure of the morning and doom
And I waited for hamsters as cute as could be
To reach for the icecubes to soften their tea.