‘A Poem for London’ - Talented Young London Poets The concrete zzles under deep frying heat. orleys is the safe haven for um’s last pound. nly two school children at a time, please, said the sign outside the corner shop. It’s empty until pm, then crammed School shirts are stuck to backs. The sun like chewing gum, The dog man has the right idea, Topless, he strolls breezy down the road Wrapped in a coat of puppies. Interconnections come in all different colours, ome a sweeter juice, some sour, The smell of the ripe sweat and condensed heat Heavy with a London odour. uffocating as the train goes into the tunnel. Anxiety building up. When will I see the light? I wonder if she runs from her body too ast the multicultural bliss, past the loving hearts and helpful hands. Underground, I know you understand. To feel the oxygen crawl down my lungs nd that I may not belong to myself. The patients of the city depend on the wires, IV, of a drip. A beat. Take me to the bottom to the Thames, let me rest on the bed. My scars are a ‘do it’ for the culture. Take snaps for the culture. Instagram for the culture. London! Stop depending on yourself! Listen to yourself! nly in a city so deep can grime cleanse your soul, Where the locals mean so much to us we
hail aye bossman’. SHE She of the she. he got your back when they came for you. Hold your ground. Pick yourself up. ix up. tand tall. ack straight. You’re protected. She’s protected. Her very own. A bowl of assorted nuts. ou we belong here. Pistachios. Hijabis. lmonds. White folk. ashews. lack folk. ombay ix you know Walnuts. andem on the wall. And if you’re allergic, then you don’t belong here. Grab your Epi-pen and GET OUT MY PUB! We built the nation from the wealth of thieves. ondon, I love you, but you make me nostalgic for a place you’ll never know, Because I hide it too well beneath your boroughs. If you looked, I think you’d nd a disappointment borne of all the ways that this summer is not last summer and last summer was not the one before. y family used to spread like dandelion seeds, But roots can’t anchor down in concrete. If it were a uestion of comfort last summer, ennies, banks, moments, bits, London, I love you, but I think you just aren’t mine yet.