London at night

by poetrydiary

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.