THREE tailors of Tooley Street wrote: We, the People.
The names are forgotten. It is a joke in ghosts.
Cutters or bushelmen or armhole basters, they sat
Cross-legged stitching, snatched at scissors, stole each
Cross-legged, working for wages, joking each other
As misfits cut from the cloth of a Master Tailor,
They sat and spoke their thoughts of the glory of
The People, they met after work and drank beer to
Faded off into the twilights the names are forgotten.
It is a joke in ghosts. Let it ride. They wrote: We,