First night in London, September 2007

by George Pringle

Excerpt from London Volume.  “Steel & Industry” 2016



I awoke to strange sounds.  Abrupt, mythological growls atop a symphonic pad of generators, of train breaks, of bar bottles shattering and sirens, slashing the night.

In the morning I went out to see what had happened.

A pigeon, ripped to shreds, strewn like confetti in the flowerbeds.

I stood there despairing at the scale of all this.  Bird parts everywhere…and where do I start?  What the hell is this London thing all about?  This is what it’s about, I know it.


So I went and got a blue corner shop bag, I put on some rubber gloves and I went about the yard, hunting body parts.  I found its talons and legs… but the head was missing and  never to be found.

The wing was so beautiful

(I can’t even tell you)

So perfectly broken from the torso

It had such grace

Such heroic good taste

It might have been white