Faberge eggs and assassinations ‘Weather permitting’ suicides and venom charged pin pricks pickled wódka brains and this and that, also diced red cabbage, rock salt mined repellent dreams lost to circumstance How soon a great Empire crumbles when bloated and so very tired of caviar She spoke a little English sufficient to seduce as and when plus to purchase a breakfast croissant maybe to have a stab at The Times crossword Yet cometh the hour beneath Waterloo Bridge she thought of drowning herself in the Serpentine, given its panache her unspoken words born of legacy beneficial to those newly 'borrowed' abroad all inconsequential when skulduggery was about “I think they’re on to me” The skinny English lad listened intently to this one-time ballerina wearing Doc Martens “The only victims of oppression here are the pigeons…nothing to worry about’ passing her the half empty plastic fuselage of White Lightening Three gulps and a driblet of spillage later “Nobody likes us and we don’t care” her hackneyed riposte picked up on the streets of old London Town “True” his yawning response A relatively mild ‘back home’ Russian winter may have saved the root veg and rye likely would not salvage her though handily ‘they’ have to uncover her first providing her at least that small comfort The placebo effect of threat idle or malicious gives way to bitten lips and cold shivers now is not the time to dilly dally “I shall re-invent myself I think…good plan?” No comeback from the skiny boy she turns about face finds a grin plus Makarov pistol flush between her eyes Not time for her bladder to react the boy makes his getaway Timbuctoo beckons Somewhere in a back street a chirpy vagrant trades new shoes for something more immediate
Below, my new book in paperback direct fromn Amazan, or on regular Kindle as well as Kindle Unlimited. All the best to one and all, whomsoever and where on this globe you may be.
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- MIKE STEEDEN - 
I like your poem, thank you
Thank you for reading. All the best, Mike aka The Old Fool
Hi Mike!
Mike, I have a cupboard load of Doc martens in every colour as well as stilettos, platforms, hill, mountain boots of every kind and 25 year old hikers, my grand daughter is quite intrigued by which is why I loved this post so much.
Madam Shirl has the same thing. Doc Martens galore over the years. I like them, and it’s always handy when i’m stuck for a birthday present! Thanks for the read. Mike
My pleasure. I love your writing.
I have seen so many girls like that on the streets of London, and the image chosen is perfect.
You took it to the dark place that it needed to travel to. Nicely done.
Best wishes, Pete.
Cheers, Pete. I’ve seen a few like her in London myself. It’s a funny old world.
Well I did live in Camden Town for 12 years. She wouldn’t get a second glance there. 🙂
I needed one of your stories. I did enjoy the one-time ballerina. Good morning from Michigan and thank you for the tale.
And thank you for the read, Sir
👌👌
This poem is packed with complexities! Nice!
Kind words are all. My thanks, Regards, Mike also known as The Old Fool. I’ve just read your work ’tis fine and meaningful.
You’re welcome Mike! That’s so good of you to visit my site. Thank you for your kind words, they are very much appreciated! Kind regards.
Ps. There is nothing old and foolish about your writing!!
Link, thanks,,, un abrazo Juan
Loved your verse, and Docs, lol. Congrats on the new release Mike! 🙂
My thanks. All the best, Mike
🙂
Reblogged this on By the Mighty Mumford.
Doc Martens? Why not 😄
The depth and breadth of this urban ballad is a sweet disturbance.
You are amazing at creating abstract realities. The oxymorons of life seem to live in the tip of your pen.
Love this. Thank you, TOF!
Thank you, young Resa. I think the joy of writing fiction is that I can do anything I want; be anything I want, good, bad and loveable. It’s like a whole new world no one has ever been to when I put a pen to paper, ideal for an old fool.