On the Spot in TCR

Broadcasted a sallow man,
a stubbled jaunty Madness throwback
in his Hello-Squire Suggsy hat
karaokeeing Sam Cooke’s vision
to a grandiose backtrack. 
Squat and forward, mic to sternum,
he affects this cock-a-snook
false-modest wouldn't-want-to-
disturb-you-guvnor shtick whilst
I took in his tremulous coo
amplified like the young boy’s voice
will resound over a droning shruti box 
on a Bombay street corner. 
Everyone walked past oblivious. 
But it hit my gut and cut through my defence. 
How removed I’d been;
how I'd thought it was normal and fine 
to be cast-iron miserable and immured,
partly taking my cue from others. 
I felt the sadness in the gap. 
All this time I could have understood
what a wonderful world this is.