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Trespass in Battersea

 


Trespass in Battersea

‘London Reclaim’, the name on the tug proclaimed,

(pulling yellow containers on barges).

In this sentiment, I felt the same;

so many pathways curtailed that

 I couldn’t even walk down Pumphouse lane.

 

No passage through, to the development of “Phase 2”,

Unless driving a lorry to the waste transfer station.

No route to the Thames Path and riverside,

Without hard hat and constructive intent.

Otherwise ‘No Pasaran, down the Pumphouse lane.

 

"You can better your photos on the other side

where stand 250 shops, some of them open".

Outdoor tables covered in an Astroturf fuzz.

Why not let me stand in a lane named Pumphouse

It would give me such a buzz.

 

Notices and signs that change the chemicals in my blood

Evict the endorphins and scatter the serotonins.

Hoardings proclaim venues, culture and art from wood.

Yet no history from the Covid-closed Heritage Centre,

and no chance of walking down Pumphouse (without a sermon).

 

Assorted uniforms pointing to ‘Orders’ declare

“Activity Restricted” we just want your walletry.

No loitering in this private-public square.

But the toilets in the arches are free - for that- have a kiss

In London, when in need of a piss, you can usually find a Pumphouse (but not here).

 

Plants trespass, just out of reach of pesticide guns

on the fringe of the Coaling Wharf jetty.

Hawkweeds, spleenworts and pellitory,

starlings sing out from the top of a gantry.

Uniforms do not control every domain

Just where I want to go, down Pumphouse lane.

 

I feel more alive with the dead of St Mary’s

Drinking fresh coffee by the churchyard wagon.

Away from the puss of the waste transfer station

Away from the fuss of rampaging construction.

I will never again, return to Pumphouse Lane.

 


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