3 pm and all over Soho
Chefs are sitting on steps, leaning at doors
Smoking or chatting into mobile phones
Slipped from flapped tunics or checkered trousers.
The dull morning has given way to warmth
And pretty girls and boys bloom outside bars
As the restaurants wind down / wind up for night
And a whole new crowd from the further city:
Fathers, mothers, sons and daughters, tourists
Native and foreign, noses in the air,
Wondering at that herb and this spice,
Chowing down, then taking in a show.
They’re succeeded by the demi-monde,
The leanest consumers in town,
All salads, cigarettes and metrosex.
And soon it is 3 am in Soho.
Chefs are sitting on steps, leaning at doors,
Smoking; dawn’s not far off, and breakfast.