friday poems

Let Them Eat Chaos
Kate Tempest

The squats we used to party in
            are flats we can’t afford
The dumps we did our dancing in
            have all been restored
 
Pints are up two quid
            the staff are beautiful and bored
You think it’s coming round here?
            It’s falling on its sword.
 
It don’t feel like home no more
            I don’t speak the lingo.
Since when was this a winery?
            It used to be the bingo.
 
I’ve walked these streets for all my life
            they know me like no other.
But the streets have changed.
            I no longer feel them
                                    shudder
 
                                    Alright alright, I get the gist.
 
            Whose city is this?
 
It doesn’t want me no more.
I’ve had a glimpse
            into the future.
It stinks.
 
            London’s a walled fort,
            it’s all for the rich,
            if you fall short you fall.
You know where the door is.
 
            Board up the broken,
 
do it up,
            sell it back
 
make it bespoke.
 
                    It’s all out in the open.
 
            It’s fine, man,
            hike the price right up
and smile with your friends
            in the posh new nightclubs.
 
My streets have been dug up.
            Re-paved.
 
                    New routes for commuters.
 
           The landscape has changed
 
I’m looking for the old tags,
           the graffs that once meant
                    safe territory
 
but it seems
           every hieroglyph gets whitewashed
                                                        eventually.

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