If Pigs Could Fly
Mon, 07 Jul 2014
Picks her way through her kitchen and the chaos
of fitting new windows...courtesy of the council;
piles of grubby dustsheets – cruddy cans of paint.
Kneels down – strokes her cat, unties her apron.
Perches on the chippy’s wooden bench –
glances through the fanlight at the moon.
Somewhere she’d like to be right this second.
Puts on her new Pink Floyd album – Animals;
fingers its sleeve and smiles. At least she feels
Music calms the savage breast …
and a Woodbine. Something was in the air tonight –
even Battersea seemed half-bearable. Stubs out
Seems all she’s done for weeks is make cups of tea;
Two sugars, love! ringing in her ears.
She and her shadow need some air – go down to the seat
by the bike sheds with its inspiring vista – four stacks
Glances up at her balcony – ten floors high; her smalls
on the line, flaunting themselves for all to see.
Time for Corrie soon, legs it up the stairwell – smells
of piss; the lift caput again...her shadow stops behind...
waltzing in the wind with Pink Floyd’s little pink pig –
courtesy of Zeppelin, on one of the chimney’s
of the CEGB’s gift to Battersea – its infamous
Oh, to be long gone from here, and they would –
if pigs could only fly.