The Tower Bridge Tragedy

He prepares for work as usual.

Shoe laces tied in a double bow

and tie, striped in navy, adjusted,

the knot nestling in a stiff white ‘v’.

His black umbrella spirals around a

tortoiseshell stem, faux, of course,

 

of course, he’s upright, erect

as he pecks the air, calls, ‘Back at 6.30.’

But it’s choir night at seven

so she won’t find out til later

his change of routine

at Tower Bridge.

© Jacqui Thatcher 2014

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