September 18th

In a tiny golden Piccadilly bar

All smoke stained and stale cigar

Sit a private and quiet couple

For an after work chat and cuddle

All sorts of stories run around

As no wedding band can be found

Perhaps it’s an out of marriage affair

They notice me as I start to stare

They huddle even closer to each other

Gazing in the eyes of in love lovers

The gazes soon turn to frowns

As they notice I’m writing all this down

I tell them that I’m just being reflective

And haven’t been hired as a private detective

And to save me from this predicament

The names are left out to protect the innocent

And to be able to add this to my repertoire

I’m not allowed to name the bar

My apologies to the couple I harried

I didn’t know they were recently married

My writing fatigue made me get it wrong

And I’m turning into a peeping Tom

This writing malarkey is clouding my judgement

I need to make a life adjustment

I need to stop nosing from afar

Just then two nuns walked into the bar......