Shoreditch.
They gather, like scattered cattle
Swaying and laughing, cackling
Beneath night’s thick blackness
Upon aged, cracked pavement by
Pools of rank waste-water, as taxis
Hurtle onwards to and from the
City’s sheer electronic perpetuity,
Shared and told by way of neon
Signs, nonsensical conversations,
Hieroglyphs on impossibly vivid
Bright screens, alluring and hypnotic
Under the pull of overpriced liquor,
Staggering slowly in stubborn hordes,
The clip-clop of cheap heels sounding
Beneath unflattering brazen streetlights,
Down in the shadows of unjust megaliths,
That tower high up into the shadowy
Canopy of the city’s ever-growing
Pull, as photographs are posed for,
Friends are lost, within frantic crowds
And all in all, the finity of existence
Is shelved, but for one more night.