If I can, why can’t I?
Imagine mountain ranges far away
a seashell garden
a wide window of smiling glass
and my soul sitting there
musing over some happy event

I hear
A dustbin lid clanging
Someone telling someone lese
What to do
Amongst the hotchpotch building
Of clashing brick and glass
Executive and homeless
Un-embracing and arrogant
Class system, pecking order
Of a flightless chicken coup
Of London’s Ginny life

Celebrities fly in
we love London they say
smiling for the camera
Oh it’ fine if you can afford it
Mutter the pigeon waiting for spring to begin

If you can’t afford it
You are squeezed into the paste tube
Of backyard life

You get told what to do
You get to make the dustbins sing

The only thing that’s happy
Is the dustbin
It gets
All it wants to eat
Everyday
It is emptied once or twice a week
By slaves in dumpsters
Who never speak
And sometimes it even get a special treat
Of unwanted food
In plastic raps
Old ironing boards
Old pipes for gas
Oh, it’s great, great, great
To be a dustbin

where is my community?
It used to be like an ocean
Where I my community?
It used to be like the sky

Then some man in a pin-striped suit
Got snipping at it with his Ryman scissors
The land, the whole land was soon
Cut to pieces, is it going to burn?

Breaking up a community like this
Was what the Assyrian did to their conquests
Here it done by team-leader
Here it’s done by estate agents