by Lynne Parkin

The voices of yesteryear mingle with today’s,
The smiles on empty faces have evolved;
You watch the colours fading like an old rug by the hearth,
The vintage pots like sugar cubes melt away.
The sounds of peoples’ voices fill your ears
like hearing aids on full volume.

Stiletto, platform, and hobnail boots jostle on the cobbles
As Harvey Nicks fleetingly meets Top Shop via B&Q;
Like a dove unwillingly meets a magpie whilst the vulture watches on.
Deep breaths as I drink in the memories,
And in my mind’s eye I swallow hot chocolate silky and smooth
Like the jazz singer’s dulcet tones.
People move like robots with avoiding gazes
Hands brushing over one another as they reach for the same goal;
We sigh for all is done for the day, and tomorrow is nothingness
Like the empty page of a soon to be written play.
Tomorrow is to be and yet to come,
For Covent Garden is the place for old and young.

© Lynne Parkin 2017