Shredder

(Silvia, London)
There is no you in you,

Just miss-target, lassoed desires

I envy your skill 

at fighting fires

This is your city

I take to the streets

In a pink scarf and red lipstick

Modern girl with a match-stick

Lingers on New Bond Street

At Sotheby’s the flower arcade

Never fades

That’s the best money can buy – perpetuity

This isn’t about finding you because,

Your sort shun opulence

I bet you smirked when Banksy did his shredder trick

Intellectual “Fuck-You, Your Majesty”

Hey, Mr Status-by-Stealth

I wish you died

They’d bury you wearing your usual grey

Next day – I’d keep those damned gates locked

At Friary Court

It’s late autumn, evening without afterglow

Did I tell you I have a child at war with himself
Together we paint a face on the moon

I’m 38 - my path loops back home

The lights are on