The greatest love I have for London
Stares back at me
In bobbled hats,
Combats,
Combed hair,
An absent glare
A lolling head.
The train we all dread
Ferries hopes never said
Along with silence,
On the lips of too many
Lives
Worn out.
A cage full of quiet creatures
Who wait for their beanstalks to bloom,
Amidst the gloom of forgotten hours
Underground.
In minutes lost
To this concrete jungle
We might have found the
The true cost
Of paying fares
To stare from vacant windows,
Where time goes by
Without sight –
But somehow
No regret comes to fruition
In the locker room below light;
In London
It is tradition
Not to talk,
‘Have a tea’,
You’ll see,
Concerns are reserved
For the paperwork
We’d never get
While watching the world
Beyond single-file turnstiles.