On the view from an IKEA café
The wide pale sky is brought to ground
In a distant hazed horizon. It encloses:
Left to right, a railway line, traffic lights
Where juggernauts and laden cars wait
Impatiently, emptied gasometers throw
An orange grid over terrace and tenement,
A superstore all pale brick and faked fascia,
A bus stand, then a flyover, high-rises with a
Checkered face; amongst the silver towers
Tanks and chimneys bare trees grow and green
Grass flares, below the shifting pastel clouds,
A petrol forecourt and its endless queue,
Circling industry, pylons march, the hills
Beyond dark with trees and pan-tile roofs,
Somewhere behind a fence the river runs.
As darkness falls, a modern constellation forms
As a hundred shades of light rebuild the view.
This is a bit of Doggerel that’s been knocking around awhile. I should try and post more regularly.