They travel the last stretch by tube.
Away from silver water underground
the two of them hungrily refuel.
No mug he, he didn’t look back.
half way between that last pint
and tomorrow’s breakfast tragedy.
Cold coin, cold hand, lyre lyre.
Hannah eats and looks around
reads the scene, defensive like a bear
Alive with fear, she eats hot chips
she picks them from her hot fist
and she gives me, sitting opposite,
the thickest scowl.