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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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