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Uptown

But it's Thursday, 
the alarm clock rang and a 
nightingale squawked 
down in Hoxton Square.

A jump start to the day to which 
I will pay a price.

Eyes still feeling sleep gritty and
moving tepidly through the 
brown streets of the city 
I stop for a tea in the Mozart cafe.

Moving on with the song that plays on inside me 
I make my way to the Temple
though hardly to pray 
Charing Cross that way,

Trafalgar
no battles 
just the rattle of a tin can
the beggar man always sits there.

Leicester Square,
tackier that Hoxton
but riches that hide behind casino doors.

Chinatown 
more brown streets
authentic cooking 
where 
East meets the West

I do my best 
and that's as good
as it gets 
or as good at it is 
on Thursday.

Copyright © John Smallshaw