while in Leicester Square

How yesterday’s memory is now
snoring, sleeping on the evening’s
soul.

Exagerrated Italian in 6 point
font, and salad for the laughing
lover.

Someone else’s cigarette smoke
glued to our coats, gliding night in a
train.

Mother tongue cussing, and kissed
into unchaste, with me sits fellow
traveller.

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2 Responses to while in Leicester Square

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  2. Great poem! It brings back memories. For me it’s Trafalgar Square, 4am, waiting with the teeming masses, watching blokes do the ‘bus dance’ (two hands in the air) when one finally lumbers by…