There’s a starving fog sat over this city
I wake up each morning my heart aching
With pity, another break of day, and I
Feel I might break because this fog is too
Bleak, heavy, it makes the skies grey
And the buildings grey, and the faces of the
People that swarm around me grey
Everything is grey, and the uniformity is
Sickening, it sickens me, until I think
Am I the sickness? Am I the only one who
Can see this fog, this shroud this city lives under?
Who looks out and sees the same, the same
Unending grey? It has no shades, it’s a familiar
Refrain, through the white blinds of my
Big Victorian window it never changes,
The tall sweep of concrete, the tower block
And the terraces, beyond, the desert of the
Railway and the moving faces, all, all are
Covered by the same disease, a modern plague,
I cannot be one of them, not whilst this
Fog lasts and hangs heavy around me,
Greyer than grey, I take the tube and it flings
Me underground, the tunnels are black
And people’s faces are bitter, angry, and I think,
I think I might taste the blue sky when I come
Back out from the earth, but all I face is a
Dearth, nothingness, oh, apart from the fog
The fog is back, and it hangs on the busy street
Upon which I work, the yawning roundabout,
The upper class graffiti, the vibrant flashing
Adverts, no, Gigi Hadid, I don’t want to be like
You, you may be beautiful but even you
Can’t escape this gloom, this is the gloom of my life
And as I walk, choked by exhaust fumes and the
More exotic flavour of some sophisticated vaper,
Isn’t it stifling, why can’t you taste it?
There’s no freedom here, no blue skies on these
Streets, even when it’s summer the fog still
Shrieks, and I draw my feet on to work, sometimes,
If they had their own minds, they would take me
On journeys, the wonders my feet and me would see,
And they would take the time, rest up, not
Pound, pound, pound, upon the concrete
So intent on being the first, not missing out,
Losing weight, and growing up, mortgages, loans,
Promotions, no, this fog is not a malaise
It is a gift, it makes me separate, and reminds me
That one day it will lift, and I can live again
With the light of the sun my friend, my one way
Lit and shining, not trapped under the whining
Of the world and what I should say, how I should
Be, the fog will one day flee, and I will be free.

 

Rose Staveley-Wadham

Advertisements