I met Beth outside The NatWest Tower, during her lunch hour.
She gave me a NatWest styrofoam cup, as I looked up,
At the tallest cantilever building in Western Europe.
She said, ‘No photos, you’re embarrassing me.’ I said I was sorry,
But I couldn’t help thinking of the architect, who had won my respect,
For designing something so perfect.
I said, ‘Hop in the car, let’s drive to a pub, we can get some grub.’
And the Tower with the charm of a Shakespearean Sonnet cast its shadow over my bonnet,
And suddenly at the old man on it.
I said I was sorry ‘I was looking at the Tower,’ but he wasn’t sour.
I said, ‘My girlfriend’s ringing an ambulance, mate,’ but it was too late.
But before he died he agreed the Tower was great.
The police said, ‘Don’t let it happen again,’ but tried to explain,
That this always happens on their patrol, but guilt had taken its toll.
At the pub, I couldn’t finish my second cheese roll.
We drove back in silence to the Tower, as sweet in silhouette as a late summer flower.
Beth said frankly she didn’t give a damn, that she'd ordered cheese and I’d ordered ham.
I looked to the skies and then hit a pram.
The police said that two in one day was some feat, in the same street.
I said, ‘It’s not my fault, ask my friend Beth,’ but she’d left muttering under her breath.
Five minutes later she’d leapt to her death.
The police had seen nothing like this before and tried not to guffaw.
I shrugged and said, ‘Things happen in threes,’ then caught a note floating on the breeze.
It said that I'd ordered ham and she ordered cheese.