Email Poem

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Poem
I wrote some quick notes about the journey on foot from the train station to the art gallery with a view to making it into a poem later. I may do that, but here are the slightly tidied notes I made following posting just rough notes initially

I step off the train
They still have a piano at the train station It's being played
Though the shops music covers the sound and leaves no trace
Along with a photo booth calling out with offers to capture you 
And the street is wet like the painting I saw yesterday
But the rain has stopped
No one is washed away
But some are drowned out or drawn in shadows 
There are people standing with suitcases
Contrasting with stacks of coloured bins
Street art on buildings is overlooked 
Art strides by in biker boots personified and unmistakable 
A gathering of girls all fake blond and lashes trying to stand out but as standardised as a cluster of daisies
The very tall man stands still, I have to crane to see his face
Then actual cranes, in the distance, look small
Queen Victoria's statue, set with moss and pigeon embellishments
Scaffolding on buildings with hidden virtues
I walk past taking notes without questioning 
Snippets of conversations from several food stalls, piece together to form a strange recipe
I walk past beautiful puddles containing plastic bags and broken mirrors reflecting the light and the shade of the city
Grand buildings contain insignificance
And plain shops claim magic and transformation within
People juggle several coffees 
To brighten days in dimly lit office circus'
The section near the gallery is empty and clear 
A street cleaner hovers, he could perfect his artistry here but trundles back to where he's in demand but never finished
A cherry blossom tree heralds my destination
Hints at lifting gloom
And I leave behind the bustle of the city and place my notes in my pocket
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