Magnificent Parasite (The Thames Through London) Poem by Robert Wylie

This river, a blade
Which would steal the life
From my body,
Prostitutes itself to the scabbard banks.
This river takes sensation from
The bodies of boats,
Trips upon the city's rush,
The city's energy.

Yet, the river has no rumble, no spark,
Has little of anything
Of it's own.

Prostitute, thief divider,
It drains away to anonimity
Beneath my bridge.
It is a grave for dead dogs,
Last room for the lost outsider.
Denied the flush of flood
By human ingenuity, a grandiose, yet,
Magnificent parasite,
Sucking upon the splendour, and vulgarity
Paraded upon it's
Necklaced shores.