Ldn

I like London

even when I’m breathing in chemical cancers burped up by buses

and dodging dog turd seeping into the pavement when I’m out for my run

the dozens and dozens of cookie cutter couples

humming around like bees in beanies and bright baseball jackets

that drip vintage down to their kneecaps.

I like London

the convenience, the ease of delivery, the lattes brewing around every corner

that gaping chasm beneath our feet

where people sit and sweat

and bounce from borough to borough in a rattling box

that spot on our walks where buildings bruise the battered skyline

and shed the puffy clouds.

Colin Firth on my commute again

Chug chug chug

There are looks and then there are stares

And wide-eyed candy floss pink blushes

Contained in dim lit, smoke studded carriages

Stuffed with meat and bodies and faces and breaths

Some of which aren’t as sweet smelling

As the dulcet tones of Elizabeth Bennett

Or Mr Darcy and his linens (I presume)

A meaty marathon of viewing this weekend

Has urged me to start saying “I am not 27”

Just like when they say they’re “not 16”

Or “not one and 20”

Because it sounds more abstract

A guessing game

And I’m sure I would be looked at quizzical

But I’d probably enjoy it
As that’s the kind of shit I get off on.

The middle of the carriage

And I’ll stand in the middle of the carriage

Entwined around a bar

Legs wedged around rucksack

Head resting on the pole

And instead of feeling exposed

In a sea of people – the only one standing

I toughed it out and remained there lurking

Could have hop-footed to the end

And hidden by that menacing window

That blows your hair to and fro

And is too stiff to raise

(I know, I’ve tried)

Instead I stayed stuck firmly in the middle

Of this leaky, foul-breathed carriage

Where coffee slurps and morning angst

Flood through like creaking sludge

The middle is where I was

Until a seat popped up

Like those rarest of Pokemon

And I snatched it and sat

Content with my mini achievement for the day.