Barking Mad

Do you remember when London left me,

kicking over that huge table

still lying four-square

bereft at Battersea?

The hounds in the Home

baying their fright while

cats cowered in corners, all

hackles and spit, the

love-letters she tore up and

spat into the vortex of the Tube,

littering the seats with our

sordid tittle-tattle?

In her fury she rived the Gospel Oak from

bud to root, left my head to

rot atop Tower Bridge, shouting

“Sic Semper Tyrannis” though I was

just another hopeful tourist

yearnng for a place in her dark heart.

 

 

You rescued me from Mudchute, my

mind full of might-have-been’s,

crying for the Isle of Dogs,

Barking mad.

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