And here slip I --- dragging one foot in the gutter ---
  in the midnight echo of the shop that sells cheap
  radios.
  And there sits she --- no bed, no bread, no butter ---
  on a double yellow line --- where she can park anytime.
  Old Lady Grey; crash-barrier waltzer ---
  some only son's mother. Baker Street casualty.
  Oh, Mr. Policeman --- blue shirt ballet master.
  Feet in sticking plaster ---
  move the old lady on.
  Strange pas-de-deux ---
  his Romeo to her Juliet.
  Her sleeping draught, his poisoned regret.
  No drunken bums allowed to sleep here in the
  crowded emptiness.
  Oh officer, let me send her to a cheap hotel ---
  I'll pay the bill and make her well - like hell you
  bloody will!
  No do-good over kill. We must teach them
  to be still more independent.