Suburban London, one has to come up warily
Like to an uncombed beast in a Zoo
Fried wedges shrink & chicken wings dream
Of meat after a breadcrumb monsoon
What colour are you wearing on your face?
A lot of green and yellow mascara
Fried wedges crumple on their climb from a raw valley
Which is your dream pillow left back in Africa
Half of your face here, half over there
And cold! How cold is your heart if you have any!
A seducer, an illusionist, a perisher of virgins
No heart, in place of veins - lemonade tendrils
Vertiginous nests made of waiting & surviving
If it were not for you, where would we be?
Rotting in villages, small towns, offsiding
Into an almost tangible but one step less real
A mill-wheel of diamond, burst Victorian artery
Are you a sufferer of human fear & folly?
Your country lanes, orchards, pastures & farms
Erased under the weight of non-pathetic mortals
- a little stumbling variation on English modernism.
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