Urbanagrarian

We still live by the seasons;
the knitwear came early this year.
We rotate our partings,
let whole decades of style
lie fallow until, tasting the soil,
and with our eyes raised to the sky
we mumble the word: corduroy.

Grazing gabber on old skool jungle
across adjacent boroughs, we discovered
speed garage, unruly at first,
but when hybridised with deep reggae,
it bore the pedigree dubstep.

With an eye to posterity,
we keep old varieties alive.
Nearly two decades ago,
we buried rave, let it return
to the earth on box-set mix tapes
that settled beneath Oxfam,
Big C, Age Concern.
We were in no rush.
The MCs kept their focus,
shepherding drop after drop,
asking: Have you got the stamina?

We saw shooting stars
like glow sticks, on the night
nu-rave was born.