An exclusive side street
Where your neighbours might tut

An exclusive side street
That in the spring heat
Brings on a headache

A place where you might ask
Who do I know here?
Or might I be dammed
For past mistakes of poverty?

Young women in red tights
Cycle through the pavements
In the shortest skirts

Parks fill with lunchers
The traffic can be heard
No buses pass but taxis
Avoid killing, only just

Here a mobile phone might save your life
The muggers are not necessarily Black
Though the buskers are.

The doorman at the Meridian
Sees everyone all day
You could shout as you pass
But he wouldn't say hey
His top hat and Green coat
Suit the traveller's taste
Tradition and camp
High camp in a mild drama
Departure and arrival
And if you stay a few days
You may get to know his name

What do they want in Starbucks
To control the coffee world
To see you bring your sister
And your sister bring her equally attractive friend
Scribble your mobile number on the wall
SMS Guyana and tell the Black women
There, electronically that your sex life
Is Great

They reply "why is it you seem to hurt yourself
To please a crowd"

"It's because I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown"

then it occurs to me
that I should change my attitude

or adopt a morning ritual
of hope without excitation

that I can use
throughout the day

the burnt coffee is the only beverage
I taste that Saint Patrick's day.