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The taxis circle
around the square
taking people from places
to places.
It’s mid-December in WC1.
the day is over, the bulb lingers on.
Man in hotel fork with stolen room.
He stole the fork in a curry place,
now there’s guilt written sweaty all over his face.
Man in stolen hotel room with fork.
In the hallway it’s Christmas, on the stairs it’s goodwill
as he forks in the meat and it makes him feel ill.
Man in stolen fork with hotel room.
He’s sick in the basin, he’s sick in the bin.
He’s empty as history, lonely as sin.
Room in stolen man with hotel fork.
And the taxis circle
around the square
taking people from places
to places.
From The North No 1 (1986)