Outside a small Bistro in Camden Lock

Outside a small Bistro in Camden Lock

Wondering how it was

That despite myself

I had survived

Without the need for a lesson

In life

As a lapsed adult

Aspiring to sobriety,

When all at once

A vision in white

With red shoes

Stole my heart.

She ran off with it

Into a crowded market

I gave chase

Already out of breath

Always one step behind

Teased by a fiery flow of red hair

The sound of laughter

Cutting through the noise

Of the Barrow boys

Dressed as Westwood punks

Heroin chic

With designer chains

Hung through

Turned-up noses

Trying to look cool

Despite the heat

From the beat police.

We ran along a towpath

Where pretty narrowboats

Birthed on the canal

All newly painted

And fitted with widescreen

Offered an escape

From bedsits and overpriced rentals.

The backdrop rarely moved.

I lost her in the melee

Of tourists, pickpockets and

Licenced victualers

Lining the streets

But we were destined to meet

Again

Before my lungs finally burst.

After all,

I was more than a

Well-oiled tinman

To make sense

Of the bloody mess she left behind

When she disappeared.

I’m still waiting,

Mithering over nothing,

Out of breath,

Last legs all a wobble

Heartless

But hopeful

In a potentially-human

Kind of way.