Christmas Visit

After two years away you
travelled 11,000 miles
to visit the capital of your
old home and to stay in mine,

new found. Your hair was
longer than I remembered it
and your girlfriend I'd yet
to meet, but you stayed for

a week while the streets of
London were slick with ice
under our feet. It rained of
course, the whole time you

were here, but we saw the
sights anyway, did 'the tourist
thing' in Westminster and
talked about the past over the

awkward silences. I tried to
show you the abbey, but you
had to pay, and the high gates
of parliament were chained shut

in cold symbolism. Behind the
iron fence a Christmas tree was
being erected, decorated in red
and gold. Later, when you caught

the train to Stansted, all I could
think about was that after two
years past all I could show you
glittered, behind tall black bars.