London Fog Poem by David Whalen

The spectral exhalations
Of both horses and coachmen
writhing like wraiths wrap’t round
faint lights on the street

Hard leather soles
Of young ladies slippers
Tap out sharp cadences
With their hurrying feet

Fog from the Thames
Slides easily in
And shrouds the streets
In a greasy skim

A young lady of the night
Who would better have stayed in
Stares vacantly at nothing in sight
Her throat slit ear to ear
…in a ghastly grin…

Cold cruel eyes,
a scalpel sharp dirk
Another foggy night
Another nasty bit of work

Bits and pieces taken
Token body parts
Livers, breasts. and no less
...Still beating hearts! ...

Caped figure,
tolling bells
Sounding out
Death knells

Jack the Ripper lurking
In shadowed dim-lit door
Stay home tonight…
stay out of sight

Else become part
Of London’s lore