So
here I am
with my skinny mocca-latte
protected by my bubble of eccentricity
staring out at another world.
Aliens pass in their pinstripes
carrying life support in laptop bags.
Looking only forward
they are on self-seeking missions.
My jeans and baggy T shirt
make me invisible
I slip easily under their radar.
On this planet
communication must be telepathic
the locals don’t speak to me
or each other.
With refuelling nearing completion
I brace myself
ready to leave the comfort of Starbucks
to breathe the choking fumes
of planet London.
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