London

I wrote this after the 7/7 attack on London.

Oh, sweet city, you will not let them depart

the earth unloved. You led them knowingly

to that place and time, a rush-hour coincidence

bereft of reason and rhyme to that place

and tim, that seat, window or aisle

with yawning morning slumbers

that let them pass the journey. Meanwhile,

a solemn boy in the back slides a steady hand

beneath his coat.

Oh, city, I know you saw, you are not blind,

you cried your drizzled sobs. You are too kind.

Your mourning for the dawn-drawn affair

puddles quickly and spreads

beneath the feet of millions

marching their quiet ways, home to their beds.

Oh, city, you are not my city, I know too well.

You have seen the bulge of battles,

the ruins of hell smoking up the grids beneath

your childrens' quick and cautious feet.

You open wide your streets and let them pass,

you yawn with empty parks of un-trodden grass,

you close your shows on the night

and let them roam, for even you know

on some dark nights,

all children must return home.