Crazed & Clammy in Clapham

Balmy bodies infiltrate the common

On a Friday evening in September.

Couples twirl their hands together,

Whilst sweat seeps into London's ether

Of eternal ecstasy.

Auburn hair trickles down a rose pink dress,

Whilst a lone man indulges in solo chess.

Cans cracked open, prosecco poured;

And there she dreams of being abroad -

   In a land transient in time,

         Walking on wishes,

                                                       In a place so fantastically fictitious,

                                                       Where bodies do not battle

                                                               With the reality of life -

                                                                                      Promised by mortal strife.

Laughing over Brixton lager,

Men from Balham discuss Thursday's saga

At The Cactus Club -

Disturbingly absent of a Sacramento shrub.

Pear and pickle ripple through a cotton shirt,

And tobacco waltzes into weekend wonders and woes -

Where solitude creates poetic prose

For the lone protagonists on Clapham Common.

Crazed on Kerouac, 

                                          chaos, and

                                                                      caffeine,

She watches the world from the in-between.