Under an East End Sky

I found my way back,
knees and elbows marching me through,
a snag of my T-Shirt catching upon the wire,
cotton fray waving me farewell
as I exited the countryside and adulthood
to fill my lungs with the grit and fumes and screeching sirens
I had grieved for.

It embraced me.
Old friend.
Buffing me in beams of yellow
and blushes of pink and mauve
as I splashed through oil glinted puddles
past pub doorways glittered in glass
my feet tapping the rattle of the District line
which chugged its descent through bowed tunnels
adorned in aerosol artwork.

I was just in time,
racing up the path, finding my place beside Granddad
to pick the runner beans
which we sought out,
gently easing them away from their leafy camouflage,
flecked with red flower
through hums of bubbles flying high
under the smudged haze of an East End sky.