Leicester Square

Having missed my chance to see the new ballet
because the magic had left The Hole In The Wall,
I wandered through still, fuming traffic
under winter trees
full of starlings, sleeping.

I queued for “Highlander”,
bumped by the lovers behind
consumed in each other.
An old American man passed through
with many young people dressed for the night:
couples, pairs, trios,
but no singles, like me.

A placard comes
saying protein causes lust
so eat less eggs, cheese, beef.
Underneath, the voice of a satired vicar
speaks from a middle–aged man
dressed in repression.

A tramp frightened him away
with a comment everyone else heard.

I came out of the cinema into a film,
hearing my footsteps echo around the auditorium,
dodging the actors walking slowly across me,
seeing the special effects
of the blue wail
of the flashing siren
edging past.

This poem was published in Iota.