She wore orange sandals
To match her top.
And went garment hunting
From shop to shop.
The Oxford street crowd
Were milling around.
None seemed right
Each attire she found.

Most people looked
Plump and well dressed
With styles so varied
They were blessed.
She saw a man as
She glanced down
Emptying a bin, with
An angry frown.

An East European
Working for less.
One of the people
Who cleans London’s mess.
Lives are being led
Here on many levels.
Makes you wonder if
The power’s the Devils.

Does it cross her mind
The man lives in a dive,
With scarce enough food
To stay alive?
That he works so long
In the summer heat.
Just another slave of
Oxford Street?

No, it’s the dress
That fills her mind.
The one she tried
So hard to find.
Amber gold silk
With a flowing skirt
Swirling above
The pavement’s dirt!


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s