Nothing is unseen in London.
On Oxford Street, a woman adjusts a turned strap
briefly exposing flesh to the lenses above her.
It could border on erotic to the right pair of eyes.
In Green Park, a boy kicks at a pigeon that has no toes on one foot
‘Fucking garbage,’ he says, aping the voice of his father.
It flies away, its path monitored.
Around the corner in Soho, a first date.
Their first kiss seen.
In a large doorway in Camden, a small dog with matted hair curls
at the end of a filthy blanket,
under which sleeps the only person she’s ever trusted.
They can’t give each other much, but they stay warm together.
Their tender exchanges are the subject of films no one watches.
A discarded length of plastic bunting swirls in circles in the wind
around the base of a statue in Holland Park,
catching in it bits of garbage and curled brown leaves.
Even this dance of refuse is recorded.
In London, nothing is unseen.
Mechanical viewers observe it all,
placed strategically – everywhere – for your protection.
About the author:
M.E. Rolle studied English and Political Science at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee. She holds a J.D. in Law from the University of Wisconsin-Madison and an LL.M. in Environmental Law from Vermont Law School. After a twelve year career as an attorney for U.S. federal government, M.E. decided to pursue her passion for writing in London. She is currently taking part in the University of Westminster’s program, MA Creative Writing: Writing the City.
Photograph © Steve Rotman
Wells Street Journal 