Zone 4

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The suburbs of London — where, allegedly, nothing happens and there's nothing to see.

Standing at the point

where the buses don’t just stop

but finish,

where their destinations of

nowhere somewheres

roll round on displays

like commandments on

scrolls of silk,

 

I try to interpret

meaning in the sounds of

swallowed towns,

like Debden, Sidcup and Ponders End,

mouth melodies to 

places never mentioned in song,

where empty, arching

concrete shelters have been

waiting since World War II

for their moment, their onslaught,

the time when the city arrives.

 

 

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