Lust after changing greens,
Stiff branches bucking in the breeze.
Skin pimpled red scraped to smooth.
Pigeon uncontrollable head/beak moving back and forth
To beats thumping through
And statue of man with stick gazes upwards
To murky overcast London skies.
Astro-turfed concrete conceals enlarged sofas for
Unsuspecting tourists to snap,
Cameras waiting tentatively dangling from their necks
Like measurable trophies.
Smile awkward smiles [gritting teeth],
Eyes squinting through brief spells of recognisable sunshine.
Coffee gets cold.
Flourescent orange bags lie untouched on their white tables
Whilst middle-class Americans absorb culture like pleased limpits
Nestled on wet rock.
Soaking up culture through white socks,
T-shirt slogans and large city maps.
Compulsory explorers of culture line the southbank,
Armed with trusty clipboards and boxes of rations,
Grim-faced with little enthusiasm.
Instead these adidas clad stripy gang implant their footprints
Upon red carpets and cut the mild-mannered air with distilled vibrancy.
Clashing wildly with austere culturalism they flick their chewing up
Spit, stamp and solicit passing strangers for spare cigarettes.
Cultural enthusiasts sit upright awaiting artistic exposure,
discussing over black-rimmed spectacles the ins and outs of
embracive multi-culturalism [frowning as children play].
Lads pounce on giant green furniture,
And concrete provides climbing frame
To pose and grab their cocks and take photos
[the girls seem unimpressed].
Backpackers march square-footedly across green turf stage
As if crossing fresh English countryside, staring at it
In amazement, whipping out their cameras in quick succession.
Perhaps for necessary different angles of London
that later may be injected into myspace and spread by friends
To those of us who’ve seen it [to remember what it’s like].
And yet the heaven’s open and they all stand soaking,
now saturated completely [with English culture].
Though they do not know it their experience is complete.