OUTSIDE THE BRITISH MUSEUM

rain falling
rain falling like
small nasty tears
on the old cold grey autumnal ground

I sat down outside the British Museum
watched the phantoms inside a pulled-up coach
wait for children lost inside the city

I got up and moved in the direction
of my difficult destination
from nowhere a porsche appeared
revving up at ridiculous speed
it came to a screeching halt at some traffic lights
behind the steering wheel an imbecile
a city geek, a young money meddler

By chance
by happenchance
at that very moment
two coppers were proceeding along the street,
they witnessed the maniac motorist's antics
ran up to his car and obliged him to park round the corner

I took great pleasure in slowly passing by the scene:
the smart-arsed dickhead fumbling with his documentation
as he stood on the pavement explaining himself,
the two plods about to have a bit of fun
nailing some cocky swashbuckler who dared
taunt them with his opulent arrogance

aaah, the rain,
aaah the pain,
aaah the sweet taste
of some motherfucker
getting his just desserts