London. February.
A bitter Tuesday
stalled between stations on the District line.
I can see my breath in the carriage.
Out the window
on Wimbledon Common
the morning promenade is passing:
sets of two-legged silhouettes
bulking under arctic wear,
each set leashed to a four-legged friend.
Heads are hunched against the wind
but tails are waving free:
busy flags and pom-poms
adorning a mute march
against all Februaries, all Tuesdays.
from Mapless in Underland, Ginninderra Press, 2004
