Near Hungerford Bridge
The change-seekers
who squat under blankets,
the discarded cans and newspapers,
skateboarders who weave across
as trains vibrate
in and out of Charing Cross,
the saxophonist
facing St Paul’s,
his notes airborne
in this fraction of city;
the indefatigable ant-like pedestrians
motion over a dark soup of river,
the multimillion strides
under a cloudless rhythm,
witnesses to the chaos of poverty
reaching for the fragments of eternal dreams.
