36
Sun Down West End

Around Seven Dials and St. James,
Nando strode in tight bleached jeans
& whiter-than-white Armando sliders,
hands tucked in a royal blue hoodie,
and no-one would take any notice.
He bought so much underwear —
and aroused such little interest —
he began to wonder if

maybe he wasn't there at all,
maybe wasn't even in Inglaterra,
maybe was still in the west end of Fuenlabrada,
wondering where his daddy was,
if the factory had hit quota,
and if he'd have someone
come sundown to shout out, louder, louder:
Pichichi!!! Pichichi!!! Pichichi!!!