Dorothy shouts, "Mind the gap!"
As I step from the tube, and as usual
In the permanent twilight of the Oxford Street Underground,
I notice more the ten feet between the two of us
Than the six inch hop from train to platform.
The artificial dusk is stirred by fading men
In faded suits, knife-heeled Asian women
In leather jackets, Cockney boys bellowing
"Oi, where've you been ?" around corners
To their arriving mates, London seeming
As it always has, a decade back in time,
The Jamaican busker drumming steadily
To the boom-boxed beat of Tears For Fears,
Pulsing between the unfamiliar consonants
Of German, French, and Pakistani voices
Ringing out, sounding for an echoing reply.
"Mind the gap," she grins, and I hold out my hand
And step into London's arms, lost and drowning,
Happily waving, running laughing for the Perivale connection,
Minding the gap no more than I ever have.

by Mad Poetess

Back to Pointy Sticks