her in the middle—me by the window
she unwittingly gives me a couple of lines
that I use in this poem
but delete later
I didn’t bring an umbrella
it’s supposed to be rainy and cold in London
I might die of pneumonia
after walking the streets among the fog and mist
in a depressed state of depression
a fitting end to meet my end in the dreary East End
the end to this life as a moody poet and wanderer
