the words weren't mine

sincerity is the least of virtues
from this side of the station we can’t see
the speaker and whether she’s addressing
the heads above the threadbare coats or what
you might call the culture that is the mess
spending poorly marked time still wondering
who you have to know for the uniform
to arrive a week before the worst snows

and who exactly Joan asks was Miss Slow
so keen on being true to anyhow
the pigs need their beer so I’ve got to run
it happens on autopilot I guess
I can’t think of a time when I assumed
all of this wasn’t a ready dealt hand