~
I stick out my tongue
like an upturned palm
as if testing for rain,
the city air, candle warm,
tastes of fetid cinders,
I tiptoe through a gallery
of vivid fast-food artwork
plastering the pavement
being critically considered
by cohorts of hungry pigeons,
the incessant clank, drone
and squeal of a traffic snake
inching its cortege through
the city’s concrete veins
deftly impregnates the
historic stones with toxic
cholesterol fumes,
within this jumble sale of
cultures, classes and creeds
everyone is struck dumb,
faceless, incognito, bowed
and busily pre-occupied,
no friendly Dixon bobbies
stroll the streets,
new sirens proclaim
a new menace, that once
having rained down from
the skies, now rises darkly
from the evil within
*
© GRS 8/24
grahamrichardsherwood.co.uk 