For one day only I'm on holiday,
outside the Forum in Norwich
I am sun drunk,
watching Henman
on a ten foot screen serve up shit.
Peruvian pan pipes playing 'the sound of silence'
switch to Phil Collins and I joke about being British
while my skin, pink and salted,
blisters quicker.
It's only a gun shot to scare off pidgeons
aimed high at a church front
but I jump and hiccup down nicotine.
Tank torsoed emo kids, all strung up in black,
scmirk past on broken bikes.
I want to tell them to smile
but dont in case they cry.
As the pavement grows hotter
my back flattens
my stomach sinks
I count off calories from pork rolls with apple sauce.
I filter in market roofs
become work proof
care only for sun cabled clocks on churches.
