The allure of travel, a tribute to London and Paris

 

In the guts of London, forgotten verges,

Detritus, piling up, centuries of it,

the train rocks slowly through grime town,

Black bricks loved with painted colour,

Before sinking into the depths,

Of the dark ant tunnels,

And emerging in the bright new place,

The hollowed hull of the beautiful whale,

hedgehog smothered in chimney spines,

St Pancras,

I could go upstairs,

Jonah the explorer,

walk past Betjeman, tip my hat,

Bid him good day as he’s frozen, looking up,

At the cathedral ribs of this place,

Whilst the plonking tinker of amateurs,

on pianos, rattles, in my ears,

But instead,

I look longingly at the snaking jabberers,

Excitable, planning trips, or returning,

To Paris, From Paris,

I pause, I want to be there too,

To fall in love, to drink red wine,

Puff on a cheroot, write bad poetry,

I’m Wilde, Hemmingway, that other guy,

Some dude in a cravat,

A wit, a dandy, someone you want to beat up,

Spilled absinthe,

Looking louche as I watch to Seine, the people,

But work calls, more tunnels,

Then Marylebone, I love you too,

Perhaps tomorrow.

©Mel Melis 2015