The biological factory
Produces bright young things
Becoming dead-dull things
Slowing the assembly-line
Call ‘Quality Control’
Speed toil with scraps of banging songs
Who remembers poetry?
That’s just our janitor
Attempting to remove the manhole cover
Filthy and iced-over
Who can hope for diamonds in a sewer?
Come to London!   Bump and jog around
Illuminated coffins on The Underground


The city is a worn-out rug
Of matted wool
Which incubates the rich
Raise a mortgage on a dump
Rent it back ten times its worth
Pig out on your profits at The Ritz 
Bernard Saint 
Illustration:  Claire Palmer

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