London at night
People like poems trapped
in concrete forms, stacked and packed;
at night, cosily,
just as in Roman times;
safe from northern barbarians,
and warm.
Fizz of passing cars,
not impressing odd couples
walking and talking.
Concrete paths, rain-wet still;
light-washed and purposed, echoing,
just me.
Such a great city;
at night, you’re almost human,
barbarian though
I be.
Copyright ©2011 Matthew Rhodes
Walking back to my hotel through Shoreditch.