Mayfair blues

Unlocking the case on the hotel bed,
I keep the lid open just long enough,
shut it before any screaming starts.
'You can slip them out of England?'
he asks. It's what they pay me for –
getting stuff past Customs & Excise.
The bare bulb dips. 'Voluntary sale?'
'No.' I padlock the case to my wrist.
Outside, on Cork St., Zoe's waiting.
We're casual to avoid notice, meet
her ex, Joe, in Starbucks. Over caffè,
'How's your love-life?' she enquires.
He cites a few girls he's had. I grip
the suitcase. Within, more valuable
than gems, human souls. Police cars
circle, dumb sunlight, kids in prams.
I spark a Mayfair. Life – without risk,
what's the point? Exhale smoke.