London

I got lost in London

To find myself,

I thought.

To figure out who this person I call me

Might be.

I looked for traces of me

In the slim blonde businessman

Chuckling with old friends at a pub

Over a chilled Guinness.

I looked in a fishnet-clad girl

Searching vacantly for a customer

On a lonely street corner.

In a blue-eyed boy

Staring at me

As he clings to his mother’s skirt.

I even looked in a mob of hungry grey pigeons

And a bottle of Spanish wine

For something that was me.

I found London has a culture

And I want to belong to it.

I want to have old friends

To drink a Guinness with

I need a street corner

That feels mine.

Even pigeons belong to a park.

No.

I didn’t find me.

I spied on a city full of people

With their lives rooted in London.

I didn’t find me.

I found people

With roots I’ve never had.

So I drank

The bottle of Spanish wine that is not me.

But it only made me more blurry.