In between
Coughs frozen together
By a bronchial Lullaby
Three months on I
Dragged another cloud down

Singed by the weather, the glow of my tip
shuddered and mixed with my morning cup
As I waited
And we waited
For the N13 fumes of the Crouch End bus

Underneath but still in line we listened
To London's Atheistic chimes
I looked up
Like in church to see
If Mable's chippy was open
Or still shut
Through the stop's supposed window pane

It was glass before it was plastic
It was plastic before some kids
Yound and drastic
Took a crack
At it addicts
Now it's clear.