As I walk streets that I no longer know,
I seem to hear the city’s mournful song,
An inarticulate, discordant dirge,
Lamenting the city’s purged heart and soul.
Once Soho seemed parlous, transformative,
Now the same streets seem hipster–safe, woke dull.
Once Soho promised forbidden desires,
(Although I could never find out quite where)
Now there’s no challenge, still less joie de vivre.
Covetous land-lords’ insatiable greed,
Cast Soho’s soul into a deep abyss,
Where our memories wail and gnash their teeth,
Until those who recall join their ancestors,
And ghosts haunt the Soho streets no longer.
Art Rupert Loydell