Poem 122 – London Calling

A pigeon coo accompanies the cries,
Of urgent sirens wrestling for attention.
Although distant, their wail reaches across,
To where I sit in Euston’s Tolmers Square.
This serendipity, this place of peace,
A patch of green, affords some small respite.
Chairs rattle as a barman sets his tables,
Outside in preparation for midday.
I catch snatches of conversation from,
Engrossed commuters passing quickly by.
The Tube rumbles below my weary feet,
Whilst up above the whine of hybrid cabs.
No more the peel of oranges and lemons,
But still distinct the cry of London calling.

Today I headed into the capital to meet with colleagues. I arrived early. Exploring the local area, I found one of London’s many peaceful squares to spend a few minutes before heading in.

© Ben Quant 2022

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