Sometimes I wonder if I’m British,
taking to the cold in just a shirt.
Then in a line at the supermarket,
I’ll see someone drop eggs and smirk.
When someone collides in my path,
an apology comes first from me.
A sign and thrown in bus stop queues
will have me begging from on my knees.
But I’ll tut when I see a waiter harassed
because someone’s tea’s taking its time.
My wage feeds charity standing orders
though eat my food and I’ll profess a crime.
I like to think I’m usually on point
but quite often I get it pretty wrong.
Chasing the calm of meditation,
I begin by sub-woofering hiphop psalms.