Entrance C

‘Entrance C’ it says on the receipt

stapled to my takeaway’s bag

and still, we are hard to find.

Me, in my silken pjyamas;

you, at the foot of the stairs.

Five flights between us loom heavy –

you know, I’m not wearing a bra.

So I’m out in the street with my phone in my hand

with my dressing-gown on I am giving commands

or directions. I’ll meet you

at the door of Entrance C.

You’ll know it’s me.

Check the name on the receipt

of the takeaway bag,

or just take one single look at the girl

with the phone in her hand

who just wanted to go to bed

but thought she should eat dinner first.

Yeah, it’s me.

I came down to meet you

right by Entrance C.

This short poem was written as part of the ‘Alphabet Superset‘ programme: it is quick work and is unedited.

---

On This Topic:

• A. A. Milne

• John Betjeman

• Wendy Cope
• Dorothy Parker