Saturday
Lettie Mckie

This morning red brick buildings
leant against the blue sky
and as the wind bit my cheeks
I eagerly swung my arms.

I launched myself into flight
like the birds, black arrows in the sky
soared above the common
soaking up the Saturday runners
the Saturday fathers
the Saturday freedom
bacon and eggs.

I became invisible and slipped unseen
between art exhibits.
Rebelliously I touched them
violating their innocence with my finger prints.

The colours of the day pass by
in London’s blur
like paint splodges on a canvas
faces rising and falling like the Thames
below the shaking bridge
I dived in
felt the rush of cold as I spun through the air
then plunged
sucked down, pushed by the freezing water
submerged below the grey folds
the sludgy, icy curves
plummeted down and down.

It was like the faces from those streets swallowed me whole
the clothes enveloped me
the great coats
the teetering heels
the fake nails
the hoods
the low rise and the high tops.

It was like the lights choked me
glared down at me from their poster paradise
like who do you think you are?

Lettie Mckie is a part time poet and arts journalist when not earning her daily bread as a Learning Officer in a museum. She mostly writes comic verse and has been known to do the odd open mic or two. She's previously performed at the Southbank Centre and has recently written her first solo show, Horatio and Me. More details at lettiemckie.wordpress.com

Well Versed is edited by Jody Porter. Please include a short, third-person biography and author photo with all submissions: wveditor@gmail.com

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