lost london (unfinished)

the quiffed bygone ex-hipster;
a greenish swallow etched on bristly neck
(he has his own seat in Mulligans and a taste for the bitter black)?

the sullen cheeked
rock'n'rollers parading
round and round and round?

Beat-boys, reebok revellers
circling the poodles, perms and high heels
late on saturday, forever saturday?

pashmina-wrapped and polythene-pout pretend
socialites,
thirty and still so alone (you reap what you sow, darling)?

class-hopping liverpool street boys done good
hitting the equities, hitting the bars, hitting the coke,
hitting the missus?

london, we can not wait.
confess, london!
hold up your hands;
admit your contempt,
give in to your hate.