How silent the camera
How silver
The quiffed and curly hair
How careful the restoration
How tidy
Row after row of the fold-away chair
Fingers point
And brows are furrowed
With this popular tourist affair
The older woman
Talks of her girlfriend
I whisper, you know, sublimely self-aware
Eyes in sunken sockets
Yes, you guessed it
They said to stop and stare
So, to prevent raucous laughter
You put your finger to your lip
As if you were musing, with Tony Blair
No wonder he turned Catholic
After that new labour crawl
We said we will, we will, do or dare
The American eschews her gravy
Then talks through the silence
For she has neither style, nor care
