I hide my limp as well as I can,
Whilst my Lacoste trainers bite at my heels.
I try to look like I know what I’m doing,
Striding along central London streets,
A hidden google map at my side.
The sun is too hot to wear makeup…
Or socks as it happens which is why I have blisters.
Dodging past women in laboutins and men in suits,
I think to myself,
It’s lunchtime for the rich.
All of the restaurants are too expensive for me,
And they’d all want to eat me alive.
So I find some shade on the grass at Finsbury circus gardens.
I release my stinging feet from their white leather prisons,
And ground myself.
Whilst eating an egg sandwich out of a tinfoil wrapper,
I breathe a sigh of relief.
Exhaling my earlier fear,
I lived another day.