If she played Life
like she plays Monopoly
my wife would have the power to buy and sell me
many times over.

The inner London of my soul
would be owed to her Company Store
from Park Lane to the Old Kent Road.

My sole possession would be
the highly dubious camaraderie
of the equally poor –
only the citations of King’s Cross
to mark our road to God.

But thank God
she does not.

                   ‘Bad Friends’ published 1975