Londinium

Londinium

It was always there

Hidden in the fog

The Romans walked by

In full uniform

Legions of them

Whistling in the dark

All decked out in battle fatigues

Cute skirts and plumed hats

Bivouacked under the stars

Crouched by campfires

Listening to grim stories

Of wode-painted demons

Wraiths in the mist

Hearing the cries

Of lost men by the score.

They took to the north

Where the land was flat

Access to the sea

Was close at hand

Calling Colchester their home

Although that brought them

Nearer to Boadicea

A fearsome British leader

A thorn in the side of

Roman sovereignty.

An early example of English

Intransigence

Against hegemony

The lady was not for turning

Never bending to the yoke or

The continental drift.

Old men with shopping trolleys

Women with carrier bags

Drinkers of cider and rose’

Warming cold hands at Braziers

Behind Kings Cross station

Telling tall stories of a ghost

Close to where her bones

Were said to lie,

Haunting the underground

Taunting late-night revellers

Partygoers

Full of booze and fashionable bonhomie,

Old mystics

Bent on fleecing the parvenu

Nere-do-wells in pinstripes

Threatening the sanity

Of the unbeliever,

Scaring the pants off

Lost methheads filling them with

Mythical delusion,

Druids always were a funny bunch

As were the old Iceni.

Their bloodline is still carried

In the idiosyncrasies

Of the unruly British gent

Bent on standing out

As a mad dog

In a crowd of flag bearers,

Waving a torch for the king

Putting on the style

For the tourists

Who thought there would be fog

But instead

All they got was rain.