Here Is What Saw Me Today, When I Was Not Walking

I smelt frying beef through the filtered leaves of a power station garden.

I saw my cat playing with its dapples in the aging sun.

I strode through empty glass citadels, their interiors dark, the guard napping.

I saw smiling men and women pour from a church that clung to its surroundings like something suppurating. They bore flowers.

I sat in a living room with a breeze invented by traffic spilling over the cushions. I knew nobody there.

I received news, and celebrated with friends that were in love. We ate steak and chocolate melted over small candles.

I heard Turkish men spout hatred at all Sikhs, though the wind was high and I may have misheard.

I stood on the tube with musk in my nose, for many hours.

I saw a crowd push against a blind man, his sores nicked by the hard corners of their coats. I gave him some money.

I saw a bus driver endure the death threats of the young, shutting down the bus like a reactor, leaving us stranded at midnight.

I felt a woman bang on perspex, frowning at me then breaking into a smile, tossing her split ends and offering me a strawberry from a white china plate.