On The Changes To The Brunswick Centre
by Grace Andreacchi
Once the rough Beast
sodden filthy lying-in-wait round corners
Maw open, towering glowering
Then suddenly take flight -
a beautiful thing
Soaring into the night on concrete wing
A sight to catch breath and heart
Skip a beat.
Staring blank but watchful from abandoned shop-fronts
Hoarding the coldest blast of air
to hurl at us as we attempt to pass
Your so-called public spaces always empty
save for the plastic shopping bag
and pair of unkempt pigeons (alas!)
Your secret alleys piss soaked and
bright with broken glass.
Now the circus has come to town:
Now stupid clowns threaten the local children
with face-paints and themed balloons.
Now the nattily employed, agile as acrobats,
Tiptoe on winking heels
in search of pancetta and designer ready-meals.
Now everything’s for sale
inc. 2 bed/balcony half a million quid.
Now the Beast slumbers, half hid
beneath a tidal wave of optimism and white paint.
Bedsheets drawn crooked across
newly desirable windows
Marked, like graves, with flags to the local saint.
All’s changed! Changed utterly -
No room here for the general anxiety.
No room for loneliness, or sad despair or fear
No chance of any terrible beauty here
Nothing tragic
Not even anything interesting
will ever happen here.