on stopping by the naas costa cafe on a christmas evening

whose cafe this is i think i know

his corporate headquarters is in london though

he will not see me stopping here

to watch his cafe fill up with proles

my little hamster must think it queer

to stop without our chateau near

between the grocery and bookshop with the scruff male counter staff

the darkest evening of the year

she gives the spare tyre on my belly a nip

to remind me to leave our new acquaintance the hungarian waitress a tip

the only other sound's the shriek

i unleash at the sight of my own blood

this cafe is obviously built to last

but i have a biting hamster up my vest

and budgies to clean out before midnight mass

and budgies to clean out before midnight mass

(With apologies to Robert Frost. No really, I'm very sorry.)