(A poem) Written in a place I thought I might get battered for sitting and writing poems in.

Blue balconies
Arabic spins &wins
with English,
Let’s smash our heads
together and come up
with the new thing.
There’s always an England
flag flapping & failing to
swim from one
of the windows
and the people smoke
so much as to turn
into one of these buildings

Mottled grey
rectangles mollify
as a million taxis
set off back to the centre
In Odd places washing lines
hang, and it’s not
only track suits & towels
but opportunities
drying as well. Aho –
A big butterfly thing on the wall outside
someone’s
flat near
the top.
An ambulance
taking someone
from a ground
floor flat in as a
big dark lady with
light hair & dressing gown
looks on
agasp
into her raised hands
like a mask
that the people wear
if they aren’t interested
in catching
diseases

I’d like to spend
2 or three weeks
living here and see
whether there’s
shouting and crime
and shame & fame.

My expectation remains
but the faces explain
that it is the only
thought between me &
my safety – stillness
still messed in mind
– I’d like to conduct a rape,
‘conduct’,,,
so not actually do one
but stand there frantically flicking
a baton back and
forth to give it guidance
&flow & so make-it-not-a-rape (and slow?)
-Oh Shit, I’ve
been pickpocketed!
The bastard’s hand…
That was pretty out of order!
Is that true or
a joke? Is what? Is thou a wheel
or a spoke?

Do I fit in round here?!
Now?!
Is that Now?! what the people though
I love them so, purport to know
as they come & go &
come &go & go & go
with faces aglow
Fag aglow
& moving slow & fast
& slow & slow
These buildings grow
Don’t i fuckin’ know ey?

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