I walked that millennium way
My hurry a commonplace in the eye of the border
And the riverbank
My breath in unison with the joggers and the students,
The bud-killing cold some amber glory
But the stands as silent as the fish.
The whistle of that city bustle no doubt stilled
After the game that swallowed him
For no man in its dream of Jonah or of Jaws
Drunk well on its remembering.
I bounced on,
Drawn to the bridges.
The flush of youth is here
Craning for trout, or bikes, or signs
The students in their lycra shoals
Miked up to saccharoidal bliss,
Found within their luminous buzz.
Who is lost amongst the cityfolks?
Distracted, scarfless in the permafrost.
Is it cold, cold in there
Where the tiddlers dream who won?
Not traipsing off to Ely or to Eden
By foot or boozy mini-cab
I flank the water.
I wasn’t close – and yet I was.