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.