Near where William Blake once saw a tree
of angels, there used to be a lido, now
it’s humpy, dented grass, unused, fallow
We’d hoped builders, gardeners, with roller and plough
would come, give purpose to it, flatten and sow
create a swing park or a bowling green
somewhere for people to go, relax, but no.
Once there was diving, splashing, shoving, fooling
butterfly, breast stroke and crawl, sunning, swanning
loose limbs stretching, shimmering below the blue
now, nothing - all under the wrecking ball
the tide’s gone out for good, drowning the laughter.
The demolition men have earned their quarter
no William Blake, no angels here, no water
Hylda Sims
(Hylda Sim's book of poetry, 'Reaching Peckham: a story in 40 poems', is published by Hearing Eye and is available at the Review bookshop. £.7. You can also see her singing with her skiffle group, the City Ramblers, in 1959 in Moscow. A great clip: )
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