RHYME Poem: Move, you’re in London!, by Rose Bates

Move, keep moving, there is no stillness here
My city, my London, runs only in sixth gear

There are tubes to cram into
And buses to hop onto
There are taxis to shout at
And always people to shove through

I dream of the Parisians
Arriving to work at ten
With their three-hour lunches
And strolls along the seine

They have no limits to their leisure
Movement is luxury, never a chore
The Parisians move with pleasure
But the Londoners move with force

They say that London is limitless, a city bursting with dreams
Yet why does nobody stop? Why does nobody seem to breathe?
Why is nobody ever available?
Why are meetings booked weeks in advance?
The limits are here in this writing
London doesn’t give humans a chance

As I’m sweeping along a tube platform,
My heart racing and sweat in the air
I remember this is all for no reason
And the limits of London stand there