The wind is ripping
From the sound of oscillating
Overhead 'copters
Splitting my vision.
In the peripherals;
A polyester carpet—sleeping bags—breaks the dry monotony of summer grass;
The bicycle courier awakes from said floor, listless;
Important man, suited, takes calls from other men, suited — octopus arms scattering papers, receipts, coffee cups and tie;
Two hard hat builders chain cigarettes and fight visible hangovers, droopy eyes staring down some impending scaffold.
And I almost miss it all,
For the passing,
Of oscillating 'copters.
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 5:13 AM UTC
The wind is ripping
From the sound of oscillating
Overhead 'copters
Splitting my vision.
In the peripherals;
A polyester carpet—sleeping bags—breaks the dry monotony of summer grass;
The bicycle courier awakes from said floor, listless;
Important man, suited, takes calls from other men, suited — octopus arms scattering papers, receipts, coffee cups and tie;
Two hard hat builders chain cigarettes and fight visible hangovers, droopy eyes staring down some impending scaffold.
And I almost miss it all,
For the passing,
Of oscillating 'copters.
Cavendish Square, London, July 2018 (on the day Trump's helicopters circle London)
As part of 'View from...', a collection of observational poetic experiments, whereby I allow myself five minutes to finish a poem regarding my surroundings at that time.
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