The
Old Man was here before London.
The
Old Man created London.
In
years previous it was He who was London:
Full
of people and people's business.
Now
you are empty
Haunt
of the pleasure boat
And
dark cormorant.
You
are confluence
Bringing
together
Taking
away
Passing
through.
You
are the Victorian energy
Which
gathered the city
And
sent it spinning into
Its
relentless rising.
This
pleasure park
Sucked
Chelsea
Onto
its perimetre
And
Buddhists
Into
its heart.
It
is a gentle jumble
Of
urban diversions.
I
remember it
For
the friendships
It
gently nurtured.
And
the hidden
Secrets
Locked
within
Its
iron gates
And
iron railings.
You
squat like an old god
Amidst
your desolations:
An
empty shell
Waiting
for a rich man's fantasies
To
fulfill.