I sit on Hampstead Heath

Reading a book I bought

In a stylish London bookshop

From the top 10 list.

Looking down at the ground,

There’s a split in the earth

A crack, seeping with ants

Turning it into their underground den.

I’m struck at the metaphor hitting me

Straight in the face…

London is cracking

London is cracking under the weight of all these people

London is cracking under the weight of the hipsters hanging in the coffee shops

London is cracking under commercial greed

London is cracking under repressive governmental power.

Strangely, where I’m sat is one of the last untouched places,

Reserved as a piece of history,

Like the setting of an Austen novel.

But outside, London is changing.

No one wants the thriving markets anymore,

Selling every fruit you could possibly imagine.

London wants honest burgers,

Less honest than the cafe round the corner that’s been there 30 years.

London wants trendy coffee shops

Selling 60 different types of coffee

That even a latte now would be looked down on.

Somewhere in the backstreets though,

Are the people still trying to mend these cracks that are forming

That are holding together the heart of London

Still keeping the city alive under the weight of commuters

Pushing London to its brink with fleeting trends,

Soon to be forgotten next week.