Composed upon Westminster Bridge

   December 17, 2008     

The murky water of the Thames
admired by gullible tourists.

The city wears its garment of morning
made in China.

Ships, towers, domes, theatres
and temples lie.

Big Ben strikes nine into
the gray, gray sky.

Parliament meets high and mighty,
unaware the Empire died long ago.

The very houses seem to struggle with insomnia.
In a small window, a Mexican writes his dissertation.