Some day somebody else will warm my seat,
Take in the view as I do;
Looking out over the rails,
Over the city-linking A-road,
Over brambles, hedgerows,
Car parks, markets;
From here they’ll see the cricket ground,
The floodlights and the ugly,
Cheap hotel,
The council hands in council vans,
The turquoise detailed building,
The concrete future fading, faded, peeling,
The plastic shell they dumped upon
The winter salt;
The back-end of the bus station,
the apex of the shopping centre,
The tips of varied spires,
The weather vanes,
The ever rains,
The weather as it dawdles north and past;
The ‘vomit’ tag sprayed everywhere,
The chipped paint,
Cracked tarmac,
Rust,
The desperate public space which
Council money will not lavish;
Whosoever wants this view-
Can fucking have it.

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