A Sonnet for West Hampstead, from my 2017 collection ‘Sky Trees’
West Hampstead Tube Directly opposite the station sits a man, spotlit in blue and orange glow. He is tall and crumpled against the ground, cold, for heat rises, as you know; it reaches a bedsit, kettle boiled dry, the television flickers in mute. A woman walks past, arms tightly drawn to heart, a silhouette of iris black. It should be noted, continues the traffic attendant raising himself to shabby height, that this vehicle is parked illegally. Cat’s eyes blink against the jewelled air, I turn and swear softly, unheard. Three things are apparent but I forget. Shereen Abdallah ©
Bonnie Braw Press 