When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford. Sam Johnson.

This poem is about when
London was an English city.
I'd use the phone box to make
Arrangements with a west end
Girl, I loved without end. 
O! I'd love to walk that way again,
To reignite that London flame,
And to  see the blossom trees
Of Kenton & North Wembley
Bloom into a spring passed
Through the sieves of memory.
We lived our lives so freely then.
Two old guys in the local pub,
Both born at the end of the C19,
Smoking Piccadilly fags, drinking
Trumans' beer, God knows how,
Nodded to me as I passed their
bleary eyes. One man without an arm
Winked at me as if to say 'Enjoy today.'
I returned from this English enclave
Back to the witchery of Willesden,
Such unexpected collocations
Give rise to a desire that I could
Know how life in the London 
Of the 30s could surprise me,
before the Blitz and the suffering,
of the undiluted English sadness.