Stephen Crane gets His Head Round the Hostile Environment

A migrant said to Britain:
"Do you not see the sacrifices I make?"
"How ungrateful!" Britain replied,
"Isn't it enough that every Thursday at 8pm sharp
"I clap for your right to die for this great nation?"

this city

I

this city
is old,
older than jesus christ

this city
is young,
is reborn every day at 9am

this city
is old enough
to let you move
the way you want to move

this city
is young enough
to let you be
what you want to be

II

this city is a song
a pulse
a hum and crackle
a trembling
a feeling that if you stand still for too long
straddling the roads,
feeding the city,
you will be pulled in,
pulled up
burned,
turned to ash
consumed

III

this city,
a place of exits
and arrivals,
welcomes you
as you leave

IV

there's no other way of looking at it,
really
this city
is a Hotel California
kind of a place,
the hum and crackle you hear
is no different
from the current on fences
keeping the horses in

Earlier versions of “this city” have been published in the Leicester Mercury (27 February 2016) and in the anthology, Welcome to Leicester: Poems about The City (Dahlia Publishing, 2016).

The Politics of Friendship

On the way out,
Friendship stands at the door,
and announces to the room
what could have been said to the ear.

shake fist at sky

shake fist at sky
scowl at setting sun
spit at falling rain
piss at driving wind

frayed edges
knock on wind like woodpeckers
demanding a reset