I am, by all rights, a city girl
from Dublin to Riyadh to Birmingham
and now lost in London's whirl.
Anonymity is the city's gift,
a reward for braving the worn streets,
that bitter-sweet protective lift
as you fade with the passing of your feet
and compression leaves you caressed
even on the streets alone
as the buildings are tight pressed
because millions need a home,
because the city is a beating heart
a pulsating, convoluted mess
with chambers for every kind of part,
for every type of face and dress;
the city shows how small we are,
each one star blinking in twinkling galaxy,
removing the pressure to run so far
because in a wink the city will have forgotten me.