London is an Old Leather jacket

Not a poem yet ...

Returning to London (after time away)
Is like discovering an old favourite jacket
At the back of a wardrobe.
One of those great old
leather ones that your girlfriend made
you relegate to a hanger.

On putting it back on,
One admires one's reflection
And wonders why it was
Sectioned to those shady, packed confines
Of sartorial exile.

Six months later,
Or thereabouts. You might catch
the tired, sad reflection once again
And, with a sigh, realise it might be time for it to
Go back to the mothballed recesses
within once more. But until you have a new
jacket you'll keep wearing it just the same ...