Charing Cross

This poem was written as part of an assignment for a class while I studied abroad in London, UK.

Click-clack-click-clack

weary and aching confidence

walking down the street.

 

big issue, big issue please

she calls out like a market vendor,

her long skirt gently swaying in the wind,

looking as if gravity is the only thing keeping her here.

 

Neon lights blaze in broad daylight

Foyles Bookstore

Licensced Sex Shop

Scotch Steak House

Who will find salvation here?

 

…that, that, that, that, that don’t’ kill me…

…whispers words of wisdom…

…just dance, it’ll be okay…

 

Stiff arms bar the way,

giving out promotions

as if it were The Easy Way to Heaven.

 

And hordes of mindless zombies,

wander haphazardly down the hill,

stopping here, stopping there,

but always down they go.

They follow Lord Nelson to the light,

the light at the bottom of the hill.