Quiet and cool in the concrete cave
beneath a criss-cross of humming roads
the only movement - a slow ooze
of condensation down clammy walls.
A century ago the canal would be
gridlocked all day and all night
stern to aft, choking coke smoke
bitumen coated, tarpaulin covered
carbon inhaled but humans secondary
transporting goods from factory to trader
slow but relentless, the clogged artery
all competing as time is money
work - good for the soul, lives built on
coal, dreaming of rest and amber
Ansell’s in a hand-blown glass.
The Aston expressway sits above
gridlocked all day and all night, bonnet to boot
tarmac and diesel, people packed - unable to dream
of a time when this will be a place of tranquillity.