A tale of a City Second.,

In Edina, sharing finger snacks and drinks with cream suited lawyers of the city in their warship hotels then fleeing through the cellar kitchens with bottles of wine we rounded the corner to share our next course with the beggar man smiling, with hippies in barns and on beaches and with the city ‘tranced-out’ ravers in warehouses factories dis-used and in cavernous basements or in small nestling flats high above the skyline, with Marxists and students quoting poetries and with the college artists on the scenes of drag stars and queens tattooing reminisces of their nights in semi permanent inks onto their skins, and even once against the stone wall of the street with a cute braided frenchie…
With radicalised activists on horse tranquilizers guarding tree house compounds like ships out at sea, with marchers at protests and the PR barrage that both follows and proceeds, with actors at bars and behind theatre scenes, in jazz bars foot tapping in festivals with the whole summer blossoming, under bridges and in the innocence of tunnels in amongst the acts
We all danced that dance
Which the spiral streets weaved
Into the march of our feet
Keeping its own ancient beat,
Till next morning we meet
And after all that,
At that,
Its simple leaving.

anon.,