Dropping coins in the busker’s cap,
the sun gazed round a cloud and
followed me home where I enjoyed
a particularly smooth bowel movement.

If only life were always so simple,
I might hunt out abandoned donkeys,
donate a little blood regularly, maybe
finance a home for orphaned cripples
in Africa or somewhere and then wait
for a red-headed barmaid to knock
with a casserole of stew and dumplings,
tarrying a while on my face in her bra
and stockings while it warmed through.