And here slip I --- dragging one foot in the gutter --- in the midnight echo of the shop that sells cheap radios. And there sits she --- no bed, no bread, no butter --- on a double yellow line --- where she can park anytime. Old Lady Grey; crash-barrier waltzer --- some only son's mother. Baker Street casualty. Oh, Mr. Policeman --- blue shirt ballet master. Feet in sticking plaster --- move the old lady on. Strange pas-de-deux --- his Romeo to her Juliet. Her sleeping draught, his poisoned regret. No drunken bums allowed to sleep here in the crowded emptiness. Oh officer, let me send her to a cheap hotel --- I'll pay the bill and make her well - like hell you bloody will! No do-good over kill. We must teach them to be still more independent.
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