City Walk, City Talk
I am the flutter of a Cadbury wrapper in the wind
I am the glare of the lights flying past on the motorway
I am the smell of the ringroad – piss and motor oil and all
I am the graffiti you can understand and hate
I am the graffiti you don’t get at all
I am the mural that was paid for by public taxes
I am the cover of the cover of the tag on top of that
I am the cobbles, the pebbles, the loose tiles in the city centre
I am at least two of the spires in the city (votes are out on what the third is)
I am the scent of warm chlorine and weed, if that is weed
I am the bus as it stops and starts
I am the bus driver as she hits the break before another slicer
I am the spice in the coffee
I am the spice in the line
I am the spice littered and pattered across Westminster Road
I am the council, and the council tax
I am decay itself, dropping down like a spider on a fly
I am the two women desperately trying to hold each other
I am the wind that pushes them away
I am the homeless huddling by the train station
I am the train as it rockets past, never stopping anyway
I am overflowing rubbish bin(s)
I am the dogs barking at night, heard by everyone and no one
I am the stars that twinkle desperately above the pall
I am the floodlights that block them out
I am the pool of blood, or maybe sick, spat outside the bar
I am the bar, full of warmth and love and joy
I am the bar, stabbed to death and bleeding cheap beer
I am the bar you trip and break your neck on
I am the uncut grass
I am the uncut dick pics sent across invisible wires
I am the spider’s web around every neck and hand
I am the city of culture, 2022
I am the COVID vaccine centre, dormant
I am the abandoned shops
I am the abandoned homes
I am the boards that lock them up
I am the women who roam.
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