Look closely when the Central Line spits
you out into a river of impatience,
and you’ll see that angels’ wings are made
from shop-doorway beds – cardboard.
Drill down into your listening and you’ll hear
a heavenly voice asking for change to spare,
above the guffaws of the comfortably numb,
swilling their pints on the pavements of Holborn.
From time to time, pause under the lights,
and slowly inhale these squares and streets.
You’ll sometimes catch a faint seraphic scent,
through the death stench of asset management.
Photo Credit: David East on Unsplash