Sunday, 2 October 2011

The Barren Spring (Riot App)

The off-licences smash-grab-trashed by lads on-the-lash;
The trainers google-map-flagged by flash-mob-Olympians dancing-the-dash;
The electronics stores ping-hash-tagged, uploaded, cache-cashed;
The neighbours' cars stone-smack-bashed, gutted - or stashed and moustached;
The newsagents papier-mache-mashed into sachets of ash;
The takeaways tandoori'd, soupcon'd and charcoal grilled with pyrotechnical panache..

And no -
No one wanted papadums with that..

The clothing arcades hosted giveaway-and-getaway negligees down alleyways;
The chemists' sprayed bouquets of Michael Faraday's more laissez faire protegees;
The baby stores pitched tearaway mum scrums,
Supplementing their love-handle ass-cracking bingo-wing oven buns,
Gravity rippling burning Rome lite relay-marathons,
Husain Bolting the chiffon,
Manning the futons,
Sending encrypted smiley emoticons,
Up and down,
Up and down,
Up and down,
Hitting home-run home runs,
As on-call baby dads GPS riot app'd,
Flooring time like neutrinos,
Tearing up the dual carriageway,
Giggling fiddling Nero's..
Yeah, it was ok;
It was all child's play..
And the Arabs who couldn't be blamed for this, rejoiced,
Hey hey..

After the fire,
As volunteers vacuumed on tv with bling-brooms,
And brickbatologists cling-fumed in chatroooms,
A photographer, disbelieving, swung-zoomed on a strange bloom:
For there, through the smoke, through the clearing,
That spurned wallflower loomed:
Another book shop -
Perfectly unconsumed.