London

The joyless thud of green pastures thrumming past blinded eyes

Journey ended-ticket

Offered into a machine mouth by numb fingers

My soul has been sucked into the London Underground.

My soul dies as my feet tread on the dread of every crack

Between the spaces of London’s broken pavements.

I hate London

Its history is thick

Epidermaly vivid

I hate London

London pulled down my home and replaced it with architectural numbness

I am a London child

I have come ‘home’ from Africa with eyes wise shut

And the magic of London has not worked on me

My child dances free on London streets

Darting underground on a sixpence - coming up for air

Oyster bound

He breathes inside a shell

His freedom constrained by liberation

He gets London

He hunts it down

It is his home.

My home in Porchester Terrace was pulled down

My child feet have worked London

I know every inch of this joyless city

I hate London

And every so often it takes me in its terrible glare

And forces me to stay

My arms are too weak to wriggle under such constraints

London will kill me

My soul is sucked

Into dog shit streaked cracks

While my brave feet stride inside the squares.