Upon high banks of the river Thames, I sit
Eating a Toastie thick, so glutenous and dry.
I contemplate existence and my mind's a-flit
With thoughts both base and existentially awry.
Like life, this dirty river flows, a never-ending stream
Of molecules and mysteries, old and vast and wide.
I ponder all the history below, waiting for us unseen
Underneath the ripples cast from steady, rolling tides.
I toss a slice of the baked and bleached-white bore,
Meant to sustain nutritional goals,
Into the drink as a reminder of this mortal norm:
O! the price we pay for living is an unwelcome, hefty toll.
Yet still I sit, still I ponder, still I carry on,
Me and the waters of the river Thames, until the break of dawn.
One thought on “Just Outside the Globe, With Loaf of Bread in Hand, I Pause to Write a Sonnet”