My City



My city is a lady
with dirty petticoats
sipping champagne
lace trailing
in the gutter

At night
I give myself to
the cool embrace
of her
concrete breast,
in streets gently buzzing
with labours escapees,
buildings exuding
the day’s business,
an exhalation of fumes and
frustration, the soil
of trade, a grimy
tidal mark

A pub door opens
a belch of bad breath
smoke and stale beer
the numbing cocktail
of those seeking
lonely company

In restaurants
lit like fish bowls
diners swim
through the motions,
live theatre
on mute

The air is perfumed
with cigars,
the passing of fragrant women,
frying garlic, the sweetness
of flower stalls
and the tang
of garbage

The curling finger
of fresh espresso beckons
me into a booth
spellbound I watch
barrista ballet

My city is a lady
with secrets
tucked under
beneath bridges
in alleys
and dark parks,
human nests
of paper and plastic

My lady loves
you best
when you court
her with shiny
and fancy things
and moves
to new lover
if you lose
at casino table or
on stock floor

My city is a lady
who will love you
with a harlot’s abandon
and crush you
under the
heel of her
glass slipper


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