Tail-end of October, scat rain on skylight glass,
the loosest jazz all afternoon. Too soon the window darkens.
Perhaps, in Friedrichshain (between the wars), I wonder,
or Whitley Bay, for one more season, a matinée
plays for someone taking tea and toast with honey.
The street lights come on one by one, a standing ovation,
and all over town an applause of cups and saucers;
sweet spoon song sings in wooden rooms…
are you in this playhouse, too,
taking tea and toast with honey?