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Go shoppingThe sunshine slaps my shadow across Hanbury Street.
There’s a skip to my step as the latest old song
Grabs me by the ears and snogs me hard
And London is in loooooove.
The slivers strewn and the sick spewn
Are testament to every rampant lust
That bowl around Hawksmoor’s towering prick.
We can touch the sky for but a moment
Before we smack back to the earth of this succulent city.
On the 25, the dippers fleece the crush,
At Shadwell, a knife finds a home.
The art students make neither art nor study.
The phungas do as much nothing as they can.
Today I will say hello in any one of five languages.
I will be cursed in English. I will be blessed by G-d.
The girls who sits with me in the office
Took the hijab after the last bomb.
She knows now that any moment might be final.
The rumble didn’t reach the Vibe Bar.
Who knows when the records will scratch
For the last drink, the last dance,
The last kiss, the last night,
Th
Tim Wells is the editor of poetry fanzine Rising, lives in North-East London and is doing very well. His Boys’ Night Out in the Afternoon was nominated for the Forward Prize for Best First Collection. He joins Phill Jupitus and others for an evening of words, music and words about music on 9th March at Bethnal Green Working Men’s Club.
