That Lambretta –
sea green, slim-style Series 3 with disc brakes –
is what I want.
It must have the Innocenti mark:
cos being right is crucial
when dandy meets the lumpen.
In stingy brim and midnight blue mohair
I stay pressed, am buttoned down.
Loafers, basket woven, deck rocksteady feet.
Look, I have all the gear
and want to hear the two-stroke snortle
as – French Blue fuelled – I pull away.
Leave the job behind:
with mirrors see every dead angle
of each street corner.
Espresso smart, I must deviate.
Cherry-pick the best line
to a place we’ve never been.
Riding pillion, you can be
Jean Shrimpton – should you dare trust
Italian suspension.
Your heart, like a shield, sewn on my sleeve.
(Though I will polish out all trace
of fingernails on paintwork.)
Here's the weekend. Are you ready
to go missing underground?
I’m not prepared to wait.
vi. 2023
Spilling Cocoa Over Martin Amis
