On the field
in front of Traitor’s Gate
they hacked my head off.
They probably stuck it on a pole
so the horror of it all
would live on in people’s memory.
I couldn’t care less for any of that
anymore: my head’s off, somewhere down there
while I’m up here, observing…
Shall we say detachedly?
Or would that be distasteful?
You can’t taste anything with your head off except magic.
I chose ‘field.memory.magic’ as these three words spoke to me most strongly of my experience of London. I didn’t expect them to take me to such a dark place as Traitor’s Gate. Appropriate for Halloween, at least!
Note on accuracy: there’s no field in front of traitor’s gate, unless you’re looking at the gate from the inside the tower complex, having already passed through it.