Martin Livings

Lightbulbs
(c) Martin Livings 2-3-2009

There's a tiny shop in Soho,
Down an alleyway so small,
That a cat would have a tough time turning round.

This shop sells only lightbulbs,
merely lightbulbs, that is all.
It's the only place these lightbulbs can be found.

All they ask is what you offer,
Pound of flesh or pint of blood,
Then you choose the finest bulbs in all the lands.

You can take all you can carry,
From a trickle to a flood,
But the catch is that you cannot use your hands.

So whenever you might ask me
Where I get all my ideas,
As you fix me with your sharp, expectant stare,

There's a tiny shop in Soho,
And that's where I go, my dears.
Are you brave enough to follow me down there?