Chelsea 1977

The street is bathed in winter sunset pink,

The air is redolent of kitchen sink,

Between the dog-mess heaps I pick my way

To watch the dying embers of the day

Glow over Chelsea, crimson load on load

All Brangwynesque across the long King’s Road.

Deep in myself I feel a sense of doom,

Fearful of death I trudge towards the tomb.

The earth beneath my feet is hardly soil

But outstretched chicken-netting coil on coil

Covering cables, sewage-pipes and wires

While underneath burn hell’s eternal fires.

Snap! crackle! pop! the kiddiz know the sound

And Satan stokes his furnace underground.