Butcher Shop Window Defecation

Today is the day I say
As I eye up the shop sign
"Quaity meats" it boasts
"And soon more" I mumble

In through the door I slip
Between pensioners and prams
Across a sawdust desert
I glide to the front

Up on the counter I hop
On the glass, like floating
Above the staring faces
And gasps and laughter

"what's your game?", I hear a shout
Feeling the rush of imminance
I head for the shop window
Among the chops and sausages

Trousers falling like drifts
Of thawing snow I stoop and bend
A man with golf clubs points
From the street out side

Angry butchers now closing in
But it's too late for action
There in the window a
New edition to the shop