Metal grey.
A glimpse of Bilbao.
Drizzle.
Lead-like clouds.
Graffiti.
I look up in awe.
Playful raindrops adorn
the glass ceiling
of the metro station:
a magnificent dome,
a fabulous work of engineering.
Steel-like spaces,
concrete,
airy passages,
simplicity.
The most modern metro in the world,
the boast of Bilbao,
knowing reverse of the London Underground.
The dream of an English architect.
I look down.
I’m hearing Caribbean voices,
familiar words spelt in foreign accents,
the cadences of urban dialects.
They do not look like people from Bilbao.
An Asian girl in a red leather coat asks me for directions.
She wants to know the way to the museum.
I point at the massive sign on the plastic-like wall of an office building.
I tell her to turn left at the end of the road.
I visualize a mammoth of titanium, a startling work of architecture,
curvy franchise, postindustrial setting for a perfume ad, millennial whim, Warhol.
Backpackers, art dealers, Brad Pitt and James Bond eat pintxos in Bilbao.
The largest modern art space in the world put this town  on the map.
I look around.
I see an English pub, I smell tahini from a Turkish restaurant.
The bus has stopped on the left hand side of the road.
I realize
no tube stop gets you near Guggenheim Bilbao.
I understand
a dome of these dimensions wouldn’t fit
in the narrow streets of Bilbao.
I must admit
one wouldn’t hear so many accents
one wouldn’t see so many races
in the narrow limits of Bilbao.
If I turn round and walk,
the tower 
of the Bankside power station
will soon be in sight.
All along, 
I’ve been facing
the extension
of the Jubilee Line.
Metal blue.
Award-winning feat
of the coolest place on earth
Lead-like air.
Drizzle.
Southwark.
Tate Modern.
A glimpse of Bilbao.