I want to go to London again
Juiced up, anxious, caffeine-overloaded, spiked,
Jet-lagged, overtired with the sky falling,
A David Cronenburg sky, betwixt and between,
A bit tipsy, moist, walking through the parks;
Waking up to an English breakfast, a Ploughman’s Lunch,
High tea at the Savoy, a weight lifted from my shoulders,
Thinking I’ll reread Michael Lally but I’ll burst through the Turner-Tate
And find Gerard on Queen Anne’s Lane or
Queen Anne’s Walk or Queen Anne’s Mews.
It will not be my first time there; so dark then, where
The B&Bs were reformatory schools, single, solo
Rawer, boatless, thankless (you’re never welcome because you’re not).
I’ll see a play starring Diana Rigg. Do they still have bestiality laws?
I want to go to London, guilt-ridden with bad sex (masturbation),
Hang out at the Dorchester & Lainsborough, drink Pimms cups,
I can bow down to titles; I’ll take the tube, sit for a suit on Jermyn St.,
Caress the curry, pomp the circumstance, silently thank Churchill,
Salute the marching band, look right, walk left,
Hum The Eastenders theme song.
Maybe this time I’ll take in the Jewels, the Tower, the Carvery,
The Portrait Gallery, Russell Square, Brompton Road, Goodge Street.
I want to go to London again, I heard I can drive to Paris from there.
-- Michael Malinowitz