This is not my Natural Habitat


For such a crowded, confined space this town is empty, all its soul
Consumed by car parks, yellow lines and shopping malls. It’s one great hole
And not my natural habitat. That’s high up on the windswept fells
Where trench coats crack dramatically. Down here the lonely crowd just swells
Between the cold grey buildings as I stand against the omni-flood.
My trench coat now is just a sign that I’m a failure. If I could
I’d leave tomorrow, not look back. The mindless, rolling, waking dead
Would fill the gap and stumble on in search of Spam and Tiger Bread.
A scum-lined ocean, filthy grey, of baseball caps and anoraks,
They’d buy their mediocre joys from shops built out of port-a-packs,
Whilst in some café on the moors, beneath a bruised and looming sky,
My trench coat collar round my ears, I’d watch the real world roll by.


20 responses to “This is not my Natural Habitat

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