Bankside
A poem
It’s a weeping wind That sings Bossa Nova on two beats
No space for stronger gales No hailstones grey No blusters from the grass blades No mirrors on the dunes
You see… At the Bankside It’s an everybody kinda place Both young and old
Groovy trendy types Lone soul searchers Rebels on the right side Lost travellers Living Joe’s And smiling Jane’s
The naked eye The cobbled streets The listed buildings The tourist beat
These paths No hardship Family drama, no One witness the soul-folk Time fleeting goes And then no more…
Why? Because cosmopolitan alley lives here With no fixed abode
George Odarquaye Lamptey