6 is my favorite number.
The sun rises 10 minutes to
the birds chirps 10 minutes past.
Between day and night, lost
free without restraint
uncircumscribed, by the rules and laws
written under concrete pavements,
graffitied a hundred meters high
on skyscrapers and tower blocks.
Rheumy eyed, but spirits high I walk the streets alone.
I walk past bin-men, homeless men, men walking their dogs,
jogging men, men in suits and intoxicated men –
I wonder if they recognize me.
With their four eyes, goggley eyes
fixated on the gum splattered floor of London Liverpool Street.
Tin cans and glass bottles litter the pavements.
Bin bags torn open by foxes and rodents,
festering next to sleeping bags with cardboard signs and
baskets half empty with loose change.
I look at my reflection on the humongous twenty by twenty
meter square window of TM Lewin,
like the mannequin with no face, I cannot recognize
what I see in front of my very own eyes.
I stand, disgusted.
Unable to see through my tattered clothes and
shambolic shoes stained and worn down, torn over the miles.
This body that I’m in, chameleon;
(I came to this spot several times after, wearing different moods or attires
and every time I stood in front of my reflection I was a new man.)
As I stood rooted to the spot, unable to look away
the sun slowly peaked its head over the Heron Tower.
The glare on the window, over exposed my reflection
allowing me to pry my eyes off and once again,
continue walking rheumy eyed, but spirits high
to the hums and whistles of the bin-man
through London Liverpool Streets rat infested, newspaper littered
gum splattered concrete pavements.
Fatherkim 
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