There are riots in Tottenham Hale,
The Carpetright is alight, rioters bus in from north London.
A Double decker - master of routes, is left burnt out -
an ironic and tragic symbol.
It's a sad, sad situation of police sirens and puzzled dinner party speculation.
Did he have a gun? Why stop the minicab? The Feds shot each other? David and Presley
heard nothing from two streets away?
London is a big ole place.
Connections are made and severed quickly.
Blame needs to be attached.
I listen and wonder how it is that the Tottenham war zone doesn't surprise anyone.
A squirrel sits on the fence that leads to the neighbour's back garden,
with green green climbers and red roses
Still. Sniffing the breeze and waiting for the next thing to happen.
Sun showers and gentle breezes in the Islington shire.
"Wake me up in half an hour", she said as the applause from Bennie and the Jets
While I read the Guardian riot reports in the kitchen
with a cuppa and some light, crispy crackers.