on stopping by starbucks on a snowy evening with a biting hamster under my jersey

whose cafe this is
i think i know
his corporate headquarters is in seattle though
he will not see me stopping here
to watch his cafe fill up with proles

whose cafe this is
i haven't a clue
the place is full of teen yobs now
they will not mind me stopping here
unless i catch their eye
or look at their girlfriends legs
or otherwise interfere
with their magnificent lives
of serious drugs
and casual sex

my little hamster must think it queer
to stop without a hamster cage near
between the grocery and the bookshop with the dude where's my car counter assistants
the darkest evening of the year

he gives the spare tyre on my belly a nip
to remind me to leave the russian waitress a tip
the only other sound's the shriek
i unleash at the sight of my own blood

this cafe is lovely dark and cavernous
but i've a biting hamster up my vest
and budgies to feed before midnight mass
and budgies to feed before midnight mass