Dirty with grime the tenements pass by – decrepit pre war buildings lurking; just lurking.
Graffiti and litter strewn at the bottom of gardens; do humans live here, I ponder.
A woman dressed like a Goth monosyllabically floats past; not here, not there, not anywhere.
Her glazed peep-holes are the give-away.
She stares for a while into the abyss – then, she mumbles; she needs her fix.
Waterloo is frantic, I’m lost in the crowd; small and insignificant.
Jubilee line is where I want to be; it’s only two stops to Green Park the kind man directs.
Down in the dungeons of London town I shift through the crowds to hop on the tube.
Crowded and noisy, stink and sweat, this ancient transport is claustrophobic. I sense the exhalation
Of a stranger on the back of my neck…discomfort.
Arrive at the Wolseley; opulent and grand. Opposite the Ritz where Maggie was found.
Another world in front of me I see – the other half live so differently.
In the distance Westminster stands proud; our incredible history is there for visitors to see.
They come in their droves to London town – its ancient history bears the crown.
There but the grace of God it could have been me – in the grey tenements of poverty and misery.
I am grateful today after my visit up town – blessed with a life of goodness and gain.
My new mantra is: not to complain…