Broken pavements
Broken pavements
Twisted lamp posts
Wreathed in dust
Sedimented earth
A sky painted rust
Is what it was
What it might become
A dystopian nightmare
Needs not an Armageddon
It is already there, in
A back street slum
Close to the epicentre
Of the City
A building collapse
Substandard work
Inferior material
Broken, as the promises
Made to good people
No bombs necessary
To make it fall
A dirty graft
Brass in pocket
A brown envelope
Under the table
Baby I’m a rich man too
On an industrial scale
The wind will change
Beware it does not
Bring your house down
It is a chain reaction
Not a group, a wing
Or a faction
Real people suffer
Fatherless children
Motherless child
Breathe easy in bed
And pray
We can be reconciled
Before the tide
Is turned against us
The whole world
Is marching
Up to your gate
Bringing down the walls
You have built
With too much sand
A handful of silt