Rain Town City/ PickPik

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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