Autumn in South Kensington

Out in the leafy suburbs of South Ken’

I watch the conkers fall

Onto beds of red, gold and brown.

I stare at sycamore seeds that

Take flight,

Drifting lazily

To float softly and airily down.

I see a sunset and sunrise

Through clear skies

Devoid of smog and smoke

And breathe deeply the clean air,

Expand my lungs and I don’t

Cough, splutter or choke.

Then I walk into the swollen belly

Of the mechanical beast

That is taking me underground

Back to the east.

My soul cries aloud,

For it knows that it

Will once again be lost

In a forest of concrete,

An air of contempt and an

Indifferent crowd.