A Busy Man

You know those buildings that you see? On an island of their own, impressive yet forlorn, Beautiful yet distrusted, desired yet unloved, Sturdy yet crumbling, rigid yet wobbling. I walk through these structures of steel, dressed in pressed suits, I bump into busy strangers, scurrying in and out of Waitrose, Boots Not once do I wonder, what their stories are Will I ever see them again, nor do I care. Yes, I spare a glance for the women, Walking fast in stilettos, judging each other With their glossy hair, neutral makeup and arrogant brows After a while they all start to blend together. I do not know it yet, but someday Someday soon, if I am lucky I will wake up a changed man, I will not hurry and scurry, I will not plan. I will throw my Blackberry into the Thames- watch it drown, I will laugh and laugh until I forget to frown. London has a beautiful heart- big and warm and full of tears, Surely, she will forgive me for not loving her enough all these years.