Lowry, Malcolm: No Company But Fear

How did all this begin, and why am I here

At this arc of Bar with its cracked brown paint?

Papegaai, mezcal, hennessey, cerveza,

Two slimed spittoons, no company but fear:

Fear of light, of the Spring, of the complaint

Of birds, and buses flying to far places,

And the students going to the races,

Of girls skipping with the wind in their faces;

But no company, no company but fear:

Fear of the blowing fountain, and all flowers

That know the sun are my enemies,

These, dead, hours?