She grabbed my hand –
caught, like a tufted
grove of hazy branches –
there were promises unspoken.
The full English –
an edible morning rainbow.
Then, it’s heads down, cell phone
It’s the skin-tight suits
the ‘please watch me not watching you’
as we shoot through this
time tested colon –
speeding train of Tartarus,
emerging once again,
Chuffed, checkered, intermittent
assigns us together in the march,
a soldiery of urban totems.
1980s yoga pants
like validation tattoos – a rite of passage
for all who feed the push, heed
the pull, hunt the posh, herald their
Miles of scarves, stairs, scars, and stares (downward) –
brogues, bulimic beauties, and burkas –
pumps, peacoats, pints, and paces –
faces down, chins up,
clacking heals, turning heads
chasing oil on water –
pooling from the duck’s back.
How much faster can we go
to get to where we always go
but have never seen,
here in jolly ole…?
Is there anything after London?