Poem: 'Friday Afternoon At The Squirrel Café'

FRIDAY AFTERNOON 

AT THE SQUIRREL CAFÉ 

they’re playing Sam Cooke
in the Café In The Wood,
the Polish couple discuss Brexit around
a Panini melt beneath buzzy-bee prints
by local artist Ieva,
Cupid, draw back your bow, 
the Mother breastfeeds in the corner
while flicking her instagram posts,
I don’t wanna bother you, but I’m in distress, 
outside, beneath the awning
they look up from lattés to
watch the ambulance ne-naw by
as Tamsin counts her stone-collection
in a row across the table
between bites of squirrel biscuit,
bring it on home to me, 
three girls in the steamy coffee aroma
of the alcove beside the counter
snigger their true confessions about
the fit boy they saw on the Tooting tube,
only I listen
and remember,
a change is gonna come…