Shibuya

You know how, in your bed

when you're ill, the duvet,

bored of your sour company,

beckons all you needed once

and never wish to see again

to come and cluster round you--

from that nest of unrest

I floated to Shibuya

in a red rubber dinghy

packed with custard buns,

just to watch the sun

drop like a lolly from the sky.

So I spent the night,

and no one knew me.

We all kept our own distance

as the stars suckled the sea,

but the wind blew too warm

and smelled of sugar and sweat.