Joe Famous

Today as I leave, the car horns honk halleluja.
The sellers on the pillow-stall stall, remove
their baseball caps and salute. Then, throwing
cushions to the wind, encircle me with scraps of paper,

brandishing biros. The local weirdo stops
taking photos of buses, sprints at us. On his knees,
says in cockney, "Hah baht a smile, mate." Turns
the Nikon ninety degrees. Flash. And back.

At McDonalds, the staff clap like football fans,
above the head. I sign the breasts of a crew member.
My Big Mac boasts extra sweated shallots in a lot of paprika.
Via my straw, from the Coke cup, I channel Bollinger.

The Asian driving the cab doffs his peaked hat. Passes
me a mobile phone and a mini TV. "You'll never guess
where I'm calling you from, Mum. A taxi!" I pay the fare,
stare at the Honda as it halves in length, then gets smaller,

and the pillow sellers sell pillows
and the weirdo gets weirder
and the Maccy lads/lasses pick up stars for their badges
and the taxi chap picks up drunks and ciggy-cadgers

and they all go home and say, to their lovers,
their partners, their spouses, their brothers and sisters,
extended rellies, friends and - where applicable - kids,

"Today I saw that geezer who had that dispicable thing
they said would never ever go away. As long as he lived.

And it did."