The Last Day in Brum

Its raining,
so normal,
as I trudge to the
newsagents just
off Bristol.
The 62 breezes by
on its way down to
City Centre, packing
people off to work
and the Bullring.
The chippies are all
closed but the smell
still hovers,
sour vinegar and old cod.
A woman pushes a buggey
and dodges an ambulance
with nimble ease.
Sara said I would
never be the same.
I think she's right,
so I pick up a
Cadbury's and Coke,
push my collar up
till it touches my ears
and brave the rain
all the way down
to London. Maybe there
I'll find what I've
been looking for.