I never thought to join a doll’s house.
I worried how I would fit in.
Such small places, Arcadian places,
Sylvanian places, so bereft of sin.
I’d never fit in.
Then I heard of another house of Dolls,
Near Old Street’s blessèd Doughnut City,
O Mother Hoxton!, sanctified even through all the booty calls.
But I was too late, (too late!)
To pass through this Gate.
Such a pity.
Rotating lists of food vendors
And dewy alcoholic splendours,
Now locked away from me
Like Doreen’s petty cash kitty.
This Kafka stands before the Law:
G. S. Mattu @gurdeepmattu