It´s two old-timer citizens
shelter by the market wall –
and shiver in the rain.
The lights go up and the streets close down,
and they chew the cud of their story
‘Popped it to this snakedancer –
Joe Soak growls, and adjusts his cap:
“Fire-eaters for kids!” –
so we´d have, perhaps.
Well, you makes the bed you lie in:
a double one in flames –
and Lola goes to the bin…
a trapezist too can miss a trick,
so the Good Book says, I think;
even Happy the Houdini
kicket the bucket in the clink.’
Shivering, his mate is watching
a tram´s predestined track:
it trundles down its iron crack
and the points clack;
and straight to the depths,
he sends a charge of meths.
A face there at the window –
and the gang in the pub is grinning:
the guffaw´s beginning.
Joe Soak knows the other Joe´s head:
‘nuff said –
‘Cut the cackle, gents!
Could be your chair
only seems to be there.
A con´s a con: who knows
what dream the whole thing´s sitting on?’