On the Streets of London at 6am

The soundtrack of life
They call it jazz
Trips through my consciousness
The confident bass
Played as plucky digits pour
Fingers on keys, trained thumb on stereo.
They boast of a glory
Of a touch they control

I take the cup, leant to me
For a comparative moment
I feel shallow

The wholesale porcelain, manufactured hollow
Lips to rim. I think
For who has done this before
Time and time over
Drinking chain-store coffee
- I could be anywhere.

Though
The pulse of traffic
Tells of distant life
Watching the monitor
Waiting for light.