Woman of the world that I am (not)
I stride into an N1 bar, shopping bags in tow
Mainly to get out of the snow
And not wanting to be home, alone.
I am the only (coloured) person here,
In black (Laura Ashley) woollen coat
Trying to fit in with (new) tote
Yet at odds with the fashionistas.
They are gay, bald (and white) in gray turtlenecks
At least they ignore me,
One drops a wine glass, loudly;
Would there be a scene? I worry.
Outside it is thickly wet
Indoor it is steamy but hollow
The light casts a dull pallor
Over the male faces, turned yellow
Like my Boddington bitter (half)
Which I am drinking
While trying to wriggle sore feet out
elegantly from grimy (leather) boots, thinking:
Street London. Migrant London. Cheap Sale London. Pub London.
Why do I not belong?
I go about this lonely big city
Doing chores in dreamlike self-pity
Feeling always the lack of warmth
Striving ever to conform
© Millicent Danker
20 October 1999