gaps in concrete

Darkness never falls here,
just stumbles gracelessly into
a dirty soup that is less than light.
The firmament is veiled tonight,
by a film of vapour tainted sickly
yellow like acid bile, retched up
when there is nothing left to vomit.

A television lies face-down in the alley,
beaten and left for dead, bleeding glass.
Silent vigil is kept by dismembered
items of MDF furniture, a stained
mattress, and a lonely plastic shoe,
forever severed from its partner.

The birds never fall silent here,
but their song is different, somehow.
Desperate. Uneasy roost is broken by
angry voices, smashing glass, as different
tribes and different cultures clash. Knives
flash and sirens wail, whilst up above, doves
nestle and fidget and comfort each other,
murmur sweet nothings in mournful refrain,
again and again.

But over in the vacant plot, thistles and
nettles and grasses fight, Buddleja and
Elder lay claim on split concrete, docks
and dandelions assert their right.
This is where Fox brings his kill, to
devour in derelict garages, amid
split bin-bags and used needles and
accumulated detritus of a city
that has eaten its fill.
And then some.

As I creep with due caution through
neglected thickets of dog-rose and
blackthorn, adorned with ragged
carrier-bags that flutter forlorn like
captured flags, it occurs to me that if,
by some calamity, we are erased from
this planet like misplaced pencil strokes,
it would only be a matter of months,
'til our filthy existence became no more
than the remnant of a bad dream,
a sleeping frown upon the face of the earth.

And I think of the joy,
the sweet relief I would feel,
upon waking from such a nightmare as this.