There Is Nothing Like A Dome
One previous owner has for sale
a most commodious tent, affording
some unprintable views. It is a big top
at rock bottom prices, would suit
a convention of dental surgeons bent
on extracting the Michael,
or a circus in a crisis, or a rally of
characters from Dickens or Eastenders.
The vendor informs us that it is
completely vacant, except for a spot
of hot air, a slice of green cheese,
and a young girl on a flying trapeze.
It is a marquee fit for De Sade. It boasts
a ballroom ideal for absolute balls,
tall orders, or a reunion of Glenn Miller,
The Beatles, King Kong and Godzilla.
It is going for a song, or a bit of a ditty
or even a passable hum. Oh go on. Itís a
mean time at Greenwich. Itís a big deal.
Itís a real steal. Itís a mod con.