clicking

clicking the shutter at a broken mirror,
I see death's head in a bowler hat,
a lady in a skirt made of raincoats,
the rubber umbro diamond,
and a crystal chandelier
in a council flat

clicking the heels in the stainless steel passage,
I meet little and large
in overalls and name tags:
you're a lickle smurf, large tells little,
you're a batty boy, little tells large

clicking the keys at a cashpoint
that wants money for africa,
I remember a mouth that reminds me of crumb saying
turbo tango makes me foam myself,
and I ride the escalator behind and below
big legs,
proper calves,
wooden heels,
muscular butt,
and three souvenir bears
for just thirty quid

clicking tongues are all
annie, that's my only lighter,
seriously,
and
who's watching the store,
and
who's mopping
the betting shop floor