It was on the Underground
that I began to love London —
my fatigued form slumped in a seat,
listening to young women,
dressed in black, discuss Jack Kerouac.

I saw couples on platforms,
standing in cars, kissing, holding,
talking, knowingly intimate.
I watched the upscale and the downscale,
too tired not to notice

for these things seeped into me
into my dreams. I began to dream of London —
it was a dream of love, for London,
for the Underground.