Incognito

They sat around the darkening, dismal ward,

Waiting for further bits to crumble and fall,

These ancient London gangsters from south

Of the river reminiscing gruffly from mouths

Once snarling, snapping and barking at all ...

One looked up, noticing me in my far corner;

Curtains retaining the dignity of my former

Self.

I had not spoken; I had not awoken; I had not

Broken.

I wondered if his name was Alf?

"Are you a bit shy?" said the ninety-year-old.

"No," said I, adding:

"I'm travelling incognito."

"Why?" 

His eyebrows rose slowly. Not wholly. 

"What the f*** does that even mean?"

"It means," said I,

"I'm 

Travelling

Incognito."

"Good-bye."