Had to leave that afternoon

And walked through a part of the city I didn't know.

London seems to last forever

Unraveling it’s checkered belly 

Of windows and streets

Like a snake in the sun.

Some time later

I walked into The Arnos Arms

Where men sat on stools

In dust creaking silence 

Their dull faces death masks of disappointment.

 

It was just like our mothers warned,

Their horror set when the wind changed.

Those old Gypsy women

Who sewed suspicion into our lives

To administer our boundaries.

Now the best reason can’t dispel mystery 

From the worlds injustices.

 

The wind blew rain down the street.

 

I sat on the stool and watched

The roman girl selling flowers

At the traffic lights,

A caricature from Balkan folklore.

Condemned to an eternal trail

Offering trembling wet stems

To the blackened windows of parked cars.