Looking down

Looking down

From The Tate Modern

Platform

The steel edge of the Millenium Bridge

Slicing through the falling dusk

The Thames, lugubrious

Heavy with mud from autumnal showers,

Monet saw something different,

The conundrum of perception,

As the cupola of St Paul’s struggles

To maintain prominence

In a changing landscape,

People continue to make a difference.

Sometimes against

Overwhelming odds

With every new day

A different challenge.

The tread of weary workers

Is a constant

Sloping shoulders sag under the weight

Of turned-up collars and

High expectation

Nothing comes without struggle

The cries of seabirds interrupted

By the strike of a Peregrine.

None are safe

From such an efficient predator

Patrolling the square mile.

Pigeons gave up the ghost

Long ago,

Cormorants and shags

Never stray far from the surface,

Still as statues

Waiting for movement

In the turgid swirl below.

The fish have adapted

To the modernity

Of river city life

Always on the move

Vigilant and prepared for the worst.

On what seems like

A quiet day

There is always the chance

Of a quick smash-and-grab,

The unwary traveller

A mugger’s delight.

There is always room for a killing

In the midst of an economic

Slowdown.

Wolves rarely sleep

When there is blood to spill

And the city is full

To the brim of them.