We are skidding into London. The world is a blanket,
and eyelid closing in front of us, the outlines of building abutting the Thames
barely visible. It appears in the distance as a silhouette tarp, spires tussles
of smoke. We are headed toward London. Half
hour outside of Oxford the traffic begins swelling. It is a hustling gridlock.
The bus seems to pauses completely and huffs every three minutes, cars swelling
on all sides of us. There are less double-decker busses than I would have
imagined and the majority look like they are reserved for tourists. For the
first time since landing at Heathrow we see billboards. A latent excitement
seems to stir within the group. It is London and our trip is half over. It is London
and before we realize it we will be leaving, going back to the pedestrian lilt
from where we hail, waking up from the dream.
It is London and the city appears to be squinting at
us in corrugated nylon winks from a distance. It is London and it is spring,
the sun setting cast wounded welts of lavender in the direction from hence we
came.
There is what is mistakenly an iridescent life-size
rendition of Noah’ark that is a Casino. The Big Ten is dissing on Daisy. They
are caroling out GO CHRIS every time he makes a precipitous turn. It is London.
Even in the breath of dusk several planes shooting off from Heathrow rip
overhead casting shadows below. We are waiting. The first four days of our trip
being nothing more or less than a preamble to the city that awaits us.
It is London.
From outside the window a group of punks walks past each
sporting a different color hair and wearing trussed military boots.. It is London
and human beings are everywhere. It is London and I have already seen three
signs for an erotic art exhibition at the Tate gallery. It is London and
somehow this is to be the pinnacle of the trip.
It is London and Vivian states it you look to your
right, past the blurred thumbprint of my reflection you can make out the
Thames. It is London and the rows upon rows of Victorian houses all look they
could have been used as a backdrop for Howard’s End.
It is London and there are planetary signs for cement
steps leading into the underworld, granting access to an accelerated Hades.
It is London and Vivian is telling us that the Gloucester the hotel in Kensington we are scudded to stay at in London is
quite posh in terms of accommodations, now isn’t it. Vivian is stating that
because it is late we shan’t have time to see much of the City tonight but we
are to get plenty of rest because we have a full day of sight seeing ahead of
us tomorrow.
It is London.
My reflection in the side window of the
bus looks like a keyhole. It is London and I am making a vow with myself. I am realizing
that I am only here for a short period of mortgaged time.
It is London and our bus is clunking into the underpass
of hotel Gloucester.
Somehow I will find her her under the din of the dancefloor once again
. Somehow I will find her and kiss her and weld my limbs into her body.
It is London.
Somehow I will find her and not let her get away.
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