The blades of grass untidy over some sub saharian variety.
The cumulus  clouds are more down town
with illegal builds shimmering  in the corners.
We look back at our hopes
and belatedly realise baristas have
subverted  our national brew.
Sub let flats with strangers passing through
leaving catering oil drums outside.
Our national prerequisite  minding ones own
allows everything unknowing to go on,
including a morning benefits agency raid.
Rules and queues consigned to ailing  England