South Bank

Crossing Waterloo Bridge,

early winter morning. A

bitter wind climbs the rungs

of the river into London.

 

Buildings on the far bank

lit sepia, marks of rain still

smudge their flanks.

 

A cormorant holds arched

wings out for the wind to dry,

statue-still above the flow

of water.

 

Clouds still cloak the sky, but

I can see between them the

ghost of last night’s moon,

slim crescent, like a smile

gone awry.

 

 

Poem from ‘How Do the Parakeets Stay Green?’

 

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