And you have seen
And you have seen
Those dirty grey streets
Precincts designed by the office junior
Whilst named partners were wined and dined
In Canary Wharf
Dreaming of international recognition
Picking up an award or two
For an Italian-styled galleria
Complete with
Henry Moore statues
Tastefully positioned
To allow for a sophisticated view
Through a wormhole
Where a stomach should be.
The rich diversity
Of town planning
Across the river from
A row of shops with iron grills
On the windows
Shutters on the doors,
Where secondhand goods
Are converted into cash
From shops built
To resemble concrete bunkers.
A Maginot line
Just off the High Street
Which has replaced the
Friendly corner shop
That sold everything
Even a single cigarette
And a second-class stamp,
To become the new convenience store
Without any of the convenience.
Everything in the High Street has been
Squeezed out by Costa coffee
W H Smiths
Boots the Chemist
Several double-fronted Estate Agents
As well as a slew of charity shops
Selling high-end clothes
Donated by the bourgeoisie
Slumming it from the other side
Of the river.
There are good bargains to be had
For the prudent fashionista
Counting the pennies
Whilst trading up.
These modern moneylenders
In all but name
Are conveniently situated,
Squeezed between the bookies
And a beer-soaked
Wetherspoons on the end of the block
Partially facing the main street
For the passing trade,
Catering for the all-day breakfast rush
A pie and a pint
After signing on.
Everybody is
Available for work
Should the big guy
In the Ford Transit stop by
And request extra labour
For the fruit farms
Cash in hand.
And as the wind changes
A crumpled sheet of wastepaper
From the dingy chippie flutters
Across the open space
Where on a Saturday
They have market stalls
Selling DVDs, knock-off perfume
And fresh fruit
Picked by hand
By the bloke sitting at the table
In the pub with the Union Jack bunting,
Hung for the jubilee and still serving notice
Of its intent
To Englishness
And convenience
To the cash converter
Just next door.