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April 11, 2012

 

 

 

The early morning tackiness of London streets.

The deafening hustle and bustle that is city life.

Millionaires and celebrities

sitting cheek by jowl,

with vagrants and loners

in street cafes.

Whilst in Soho Park,

no sign of a nightingale or a lark.

Just the homeless

rising from park benches,

 and searching the pavements

for their first fix of the day.

A fag end will do fine,

and the choice is endless.

Some are still clinging  to a long since

emptied bottle of wine,

or maybe it was meths.

Who knows, who cares?

City slickers jauntily pass by, never raising an eye.

The white collared swells,  the ne’er do well’s,

accepting of each other.

There goes he, there go I,

but for the blinking of an eye.

They’re all in this mess together.

The streetwise pigeons

fighting over a discarded blueberry muffin,

that has overflowed along with

other junk and debris from

a city council bin.

What a din, what a mess.

There’s a balance to redress.

But to witness it, is exciting,

almost exhilarating.

There’s an earthy richness all around.

A common bond between strangers

passing on a daily basis.

Never speaking, never acknowledging one another,

yet silently existing  within their own safe, separate worlds

 

 

 

 

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