Just fizzy water
and half a loaf
of brown bread
Is that
criminal enough
contagious enough
to warrant
the wearing
of plastic blue
gloves
on the hands
of the
frightened
guy at the till?
Has convenience
become
that scary?
Is my politeness 
me or him?
Is my awareness
fear or brash?
Is my accent giving me
away?
Do I give two fucks?
Did the security man see
that woman rob
a Flora?
I didn’t ask for a
bag I
don’t want
to pay for it.
I want them to see
that I’m out
for a reason
I’m on my way home.
Only about 200 steps
away up the rabbit hole
past Sorrento
and a man
on his own
walking and singing
to himself
and the moon
and sharp
shadows stark
on sparkly tarmac.
and my breath
through
my scarf.
It’s past the witching
hour
the guards have gone
to bed
and it’s too cold
for prossies and lurkers.