London

I looked up and suddenly it was London, the one of terraces showing their scabby arses to us,

the London of bent sheds and blown clothes horses, of propped bikes and kids’ toys, and down in the ballast the litter of a thousand takeaways,

whilst in the distance, above the patchwork of tiles, sit the erect spires and dreams of the ever-dead empire architects, when God and the trains ran on time.

https://mikebellpoems.com/2017/09/12/london/