Beside the Canterbury Gate
Starbucks offers up caffeine
To pardoners and well-bathed wives
And those who've flown from other lives,
Guilt and pottage on a plate,
To worship where a Lord has been.
My host explains that caramel
And latte make a lovely pair.
And an anti-oxidizing scone
Will help me keep on keeping on.
He patters his tale very well,
Better than Mr Clark can bear:
“My, aren't we posh. Those charabancs
Of spivs and chavs just bought a ton
Of stuff they never read nor will.
So put you sweetener in their swill—
The inhumanity of gangs—
And offer them a Cinnabon.”
He’d smoke, but it is not allowed.
He’d drink, but it is half past eight.
His sallow fingers touch his nose
And Geoff’s his uncle when he goes
To worship in a bumptious crowd
The spivs and chavs who died in state.
The same stone that his father walked
Bears his weight now. The changing chimes
Tell the same time his father heard,
A very parfait gentle bird.
He talks the talk Old Adam talked,
Grimm’s Law excepted, crops and crimes.