My bones ache
from the grey concrete stench of London.
And although it is Saturday
an overwhelming lethargy blocks my usual sense of weekend frisson.
Outside the tail-end of winter is dragging.
Friday night’s litter blowing in the ugliest corners of the streets
and exhausted looking Londoners walk
head-down and Lowry-like.
Spent, both emotionally and financially.
I hunger to be sitting on this step.
The retained heat of the bleached stone slowly creeping up my aching spine.
Warming my thymus
and awakening the joy of summers past.
So content in the Italian heat
that I would not have the desire to flick
away the horse-fly
loitering around my