The city of london poem by ruth walters

The City of London.

Early morning after a thunderous night I can breathe easy.
If I’m quiet I may hear the sound of birdsong.
Sometimes there is a mist. It hangs over London like a veil.
Soon empty streets will heave with massing crowds,
but until then all London is at peace.

The gentle tinkling of milk bottles breaks the quiet
and the smell of bacon and fried bread
waft through the chill morning air.
Distant sounds of sirens fill my head and
concrete rises heavenward filling my eyes,
crushing their foundations through my soul.
A sickness seeps through me,
everything beautiful has gone.

“Morning paper, read all about it! ”

Girls hurry buy in tight blue jeans,
men in suits, some in Mac’s, high-heeled ladies,
clicky, click, clack.
Poor old tramp, fingernails black,
stirs on the floor beside a closed door,
‘Got the price of a cuppa luv’, he calls.
The girl quickens her pace.
A couple kiss in tender bliss
A young man sighs, a baby cries,
an old lady dies on the streets of London.