as the last light faded

It was the week of the Michael Jackson trial.
I had gone to London to lose myself in the teeming streets of the metropolis.
In London I am no longer Ireland's greatest living poet.
I am just another face in the crowd.
Walking up towards Picadilly, I came upon a group of dancers.
They were performing beside the statue of Eros.
There were crash barriers nearby.
Two police officers stood sentinel.
About ten teenage girls were behind the crash barriers watching the dancing and waving placards.
The placards bore the words: "Michael Jackson Innocent."
I realised this wasn't just a piece of street dancing.
This was a demonstration.
Not many people though.
Aside from the dancers just ten youngsters behind the barriers.
Another fifty or so onlookers standing at the base of the Eros statue to watch.
But not really part of the demo.
I stood to watch also.
The dancers were an eyecatching mix of age groups, nationalities and income groups.
One guy looked middle aged and was wearing rags.
He might have been living rough on the street.
But he had a gentle face.
There was a six year old African girl, bright as a button.
She was like Raven Symone from The Cosby Show.
A tough looking Arab chap.
Some rather sexy Spanish babes.
A smattering of Anglo Saxon Britlanders.
A few Hindu teen angels.
An African with more muscles than Arnold Schwarzeneggar.
All were at ease in each others company.
Occasionally slapping each other on the back.
Doing the high five.
Giving encouraging smiles.
This was humanity as it's meant to be.
All of em, from the well dressed to the raggedy man, could dance like you would never believe.
There was such joy in them.
This was the best statement I'd ever seen of what Michael Jackson's music is all about.
Here were these people.
So diverse.
So different.
Each in their own way beautiful.
United.
By Michael Jackson's music.
I wondered what their story was.
All of them were a part of London life I guessed.
City folk.
Their story is London's story.
Youngies, teens, twenty somethings, oldies, all Londoners in the mystical and accidental sense, though not all natives of London. Some shipwrecked here by fate. Others never having known any other home. Meeting now at weekends to dance up a storm.
And somewhere along the way, they'd become incredibly good at it.
Who knows how difficult those first get togethers had been.
Breaking down the barriers.
Coming out of the prisons we build for ourselves in daily life.
Defying the divisions of background and geography and social status and age.
Meeting up to rejoice in the glory of music and dance so uniquely expounded in his public life by Michael Jackson.
Joining together and celebrating life through Michael Jackson's music.
My God they could dance.
On a London street.
Like that.
Unbelievable.
Their sound system was a boom box.
It gave impeccable sound.
And Lord when they danced.
The only place you'd see better is in a Michael Jackson video.
I watched.
Every fifteen minutes the dancers took a break, and the teenagers behind the crash barriers tried to get a chant going of: "Michael Jackson Innocent."
Most of the onlookers around the Eros statue refused to join in.
I realised with a guilty start that I was pleased people weren't taking part in the chant.
But we were all savouring the music and the dancing.
Beside me a Hindu babe watched too.
She flipped out a mobile phone.
Our eyes met.
She had hard eyes.
Not a casual onlooker.
I recognised something.
Not just a Hindu babe.
In a flash I knew what she was.
She was corporate.
Her eyes threw off my gaze effortlessly.
She was tougher than me.
Now she was talking in a businesslike manner on her phone.
Something clicked.
I understood.
She was giving Mr Tamanouchi back at headquarters an update.
Everything fell into place.
This wasn't a spontaneous street demonstration in support of Michael Jackson.
This wasn't a bunch of dancers from all walks of life telling the world that they stood by their hero.
This was something else.
Something more malign.
This was a corporation trying to save its investment.
This was a record company trying to protect the value of its back catalogue.
Nothing here was as it seemed.
I went upon my way.
Sorrowful.