Muse by Craig Ranapia

36

Postcard from London: Lines Composed Upon Westminster Bridge, May 25, 2012

I’m sure there’s many things more fair:

The smell of burnt caramel nuts drift by

As gaggles of giggling chavs seek their destiny:

This City does, like a sweaty garment, wear

 

The beauty of the twilit evening; here

A perplexed gentleman from Mumbai tries

To take a photo; there, a baby's cry;

A tour party isn’t sure where is here.  

The last rays of the sun beautifully peep

Round The Eye the South Bank lion ignores still.

The exhaust fills me with a lethargy so deep!

You stop and start and shamble still:

Dear God! will I ever get some sleep;

Unlikely. The bus has just been cancelled.

 

I’m sure there’s not many things more fair:

The smell of burnt caramel nuts drift by

As gaggles of giggling chavs seek their destiny:

This City does, like a sweaty garment, wear

 

The beauty of the twilit evening; there

A perplexed gentleman from Mumbai tries

To take a photo while the babies cry;

A tour party aren’t sure where is here.  

The last rays of the most beautifully peep

Round The Eye the South Bank lion ignores still.

The exhaust fills me with a lethargy so deep!

You stop and start and shamble still:

Dear God! will I ever get some sleep;

Unlikely. The sodding bus has just been cancelled.

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