29 Aug 2012

Hard Breezes

On the hills of Brockley
sometimes,
I can hear the mediterranean
laugh.
In a glance, overcast,
in a fish scale on the pavement,
in the smell of wash powder
in the breeze,
in the little echo of a hammer
on a beam..

and I wonder
how very hard it must be,
though the wind gets stronger
and agrees with me,
how very hard it must be still,
to ever sniff jamaica
in these wide
English streets.