Waiting for spring 2016
Seasons have all gorn wrong nah,
Down the tubes and up the spout,
We say, as we shiver in bus queues.
In midmay, there was an eatwave,
In February, young buzzard flew in,
Perched on a fruit tree in Dollis Hill,
Mewing for a mate.
Gawd knows what it thought it was going to eat;
But the crows that run the sky round here,
Came and chased it away.
Must have annoyed Gawd,
‘cause he’s been pissing on England,
For a month or so now,
Ever since the government announced a drought.
It was raining but it stops sometimes,
Perhaps Gawd goes off to drink
Ambrosia or soma or something.
Only Gawd knows why.
Then I scan the sky hopefully,
Looking for the screaming riders of the cloud road,
This is the time that they should arrive from Africa.
A day ago, as a another rolling wet gale blew in
I thought I heard one cry
But, my ears were cheating me;
So I checked the sky again and again,
Before I was really sure
That I saw what I wanted to see;
Swifts curving and swerving again,
Slicing the skies above London,
On black samurai sword wings.