new orange semis curve away down the hill,
down the empty road, wide and dark, fall to the river
and the industry down there.
some kids, a man, a mother and a pram
cross an empty rubble lot.
the sugar mills a baby Detroit behind tall walls,
ringing masts in the marina are grey as the sky.
tower blocks and low rises entrances hidden by bars and brick
intimidate the new flats with river views of mud,
of the estuary thats black and white tonight,
rippling over sludge
dully reflecting Kents winking lights.
i'm crossing the tracks, its winter, i visited a friend for a little while and now in the high street gloom
sad rubbish blows over fight stained block paving.
i am attacked by memories
like sunlight
but its dead and black here now . . . even the Macdonalds
is gone
and the Seven Eleven called itself another name
and closed.
i go for an Italian in the mall
and reflect on the Everytown
and its brick libraries and hospital and old schools crushed,
only second storey fronts remain
but
no one looks up at all.
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