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.
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