Covent Garden April 09
A scrap of my life:
Perched on a kerbstone,
Sun hot on one side,
Shade and cool the other,
I watch as feet shod in rainbows
Glitter and catch the fleeing sun;
The endless to and fro
As people of all nations and ages
Stride or dawdle across pavements.
A busker sings Scarborough Fair
Making me feel old and young
In just one brief moment.
The sky: blue and cotton wool.
A breeze tickles my face
With stray hairs while
A sneeze lurks unfulfilled.
Smells of food and coffee
Soap, perfume and petrol
Drift like cunning ghosts
As waves of people wander past.
There’s a hum as if a hundred
Excited crickets all thrummed
And sang in unison:
Twenty languages in ten minutes.
Feet aching, I rest, create a space
Within the hubbub and bustle
Where I can be alone inside,
Enjoying the chance just to BE.
The sun warms the stones, tiny puddles
Shrink and vanish, their furtive gleams
Whispering out, leaving dust and debris
Where silver rain once lay.
Forty-five minutes remain.
Shall I stay or go?
Legs aching, I stay.
