I CAN’T BREATHE OUT HERE, NOR SEE YOU THROUGH THE SMOG

London skyline,

pretend goats,

smelly llamas,

waiting to be

stuffed,

flares on.

 

Rabbits, not fit for the wild,

content

munching hard

frozen grass,

mostly mud.

 

So much white in so much mud.

 

So much white in so much mud.

 

Standing in the cold garden admiring Victorian foresight.

A green space in a city with egg skies,

off-white, the yellow

stain of the clouds, the crisp brown

under-sky of the horizon,

touching the tips, the shards

of the tall city, empty,

empty,

banks in the yellow sky.

 

Close your eyes.

 

Remember those that have stood here,

and those that are yet to arrive.