Poem: London Through my Five-year Old Eyes

London Through my Five-year Old Eyes

Torrential, steady rain pours

on London’s cobblestone streets.

Black umbrellas rushing past me as I

walk the slippery roads.

The vivid red color of the telephone poles

and red double decker busses

stand out in the rainy scene.

The aroma of breaded pretzels fills my nostrils.

I am the smallest person, not a kid is in sight.

Strange cars, Rolls Royces, Renaults that

I have never seen before, prowled the London streets.

and parked on the little roads.

The rain dies down,

and the birds begin to chirp.

The evergreen grass of St. James Park.

creates an oasis of tranquility.

Not a play structure anywhere.

Just the orange-brown tree leaves and

white benches are in sight.

Through the trees I see black fences well polished

with pointed gold tips at the top.

As I walk towards the fence a palace emerges.

The soldiers neatly dressed in bright red uniforms, stand

out in the cloudy gray background.

Their fluffy black hats make them seven feet tall.

They march in perfect order.

A black and gold shiny carriage looms in the foreground.

Grand, white, groomed horses were hitched to the the front.

The soldiers march along the gravel through the palace gates.

More rain comes

and we head back to the hotel.

Nothing to do.

I steal my baby brothers blanket and bottle.

He begins to cry.