A

Crossfire


Spring light in a hazy May
and a man with a gun at the door
Someone's crawling on the roof above ---
  all the media here for the show
I've been waiting for our friends to come
Like spiders down ropes to free-fall
A thirty round clip for a visiting card ---
  admit one to the embassy ball

Caught in the crossfire on Princes Gate Avenue
In go the windows and out go the lights
Call me a doctor. Fetch me a policeman
I'm down on the floor in one hell of a fight

I'm just a soul with an innocent face ---
  a regular boy dressed in blue
  conducting myself in a proper way
  as befitting the job that I do
They came down on me like a ton of bricks
Swept off my feet, knocked about
There's nothing for it but to sit and wait
  for the hard men to get me out

Calm reason floats from the street below
  and the slow fuse burns through the night
Everyone's tried to talk it through
  but they can't seem to get the deal right
Somewhere there are Brownings in a two-hand hold ---
  cocked and locked, one up the spout
There's nothing for it but to sit and wait
  for the hard men to get me out

Fylingdale  Flyer


Through clear skies tracking lightly from far down the line
No fanfare, just a blip on the screen
No quick conclusions now --- everything will be fine
Short-circuit glitsch and not what it seems
Fylingdale Flyer --- you're only half way there
Green screen liar ---
for a second or so we were running scared

On late shift, feeling drowsy eyes glued to the display
Dead cert alert, lit match to the straw
One last quick game of bowls --- we can still win the day
Fail-safe; forget the things that you saw

They checked the systems through and they read A-o.k.
Some tiny fuse has probably blown
Sit back; relax and soon it will just go away
Keep your hands off that red telephone

Working John, Working Joe


When I was a young man (as all good tales begin)
  I was taught to hold out my hand
And for my pay I worked an honest day
  and took what pittance I could win
Now I'm a working John and I'm a working Joe
  and I'm doing what I know
  for God and the Economy
Big brother watches over me
And the state protects and feeds me
And my conscience never leaves me
And I'm loyal to the unions
  who protect me at all levels

And as I grew, the winds of fortune blew
  and the bank smiled down upon me
And mortgaged to the hilt I threw
  the breeze of caution behind me
Now I'm a working John and I'm a working Joe
  and I'm good at what I know
And God and the Economy
  have blessed me with equality
Now I'm equal to the best of you
And better than the rest of you
  who would criticise my success
  in times of national unrest

Now I own my horseless carriage
  in its central-heated garage
And I commute eighty miles a day ---
  up at seven to make it pay
I direct ten limited companies
  with seeming consummate expertise
  two ulcers and a heart disease
  a trembling feeling in both knees ---
I'm a working John and I'm a working Joe

Black Sunday


Tomorrow is the one day I would change for a Monday
  with freezing rains melting and no trains running
  and sad eyes passing in windows flimsy
  and my seat rocking from legs not quite matching
Got passport, credit cards, a plane that I'm catching
Black Sunday falls one day too soon

The taxi that takes me will be moving too quickly
My suitcases simply too full for the closing
  of pants, shirts and kisses all packed in a hurry
Two best-selling paper backs chosen at random ---
  no sign of sales-persons to whom I might hand them
Black Sunday falls one day too soon

And down at the airport are probably waiting