I

left to rot for untold years

The 16A goes to Keresley

But there is some kerfuffle

By the jewellers with a skateboard and a passerby’s head

And once more there is blood on the Burges

And you would need all the pure water

In the putrid river Sherbourne

Running under Kong and the dented cans of alcohol

To clean up after the five fast food outlets

Including the newly extended McDonalds

An embarrassment to the city  

Said a dishevelled Coventry councillor

Which is a pity for the Pay Day Loan shop

The Pawnbrokers the Casino the five Bookmakers

And the pre-war Cross

Which still gets a good soldier footfall

Almost as good as the now defunct Pink Parrot

And the VIP Cleopatra’s

Not forgetting the pissing on themselves pensioners

On the mobility scooters after a few beers

Especially after a few beers

left to rot for untold years

And the bootboys are jeering

The Fire Brigade fleet

Who first came up the so-called no-go

At Ironmonger Row

And then drove the wrong way

Down the one-way road at Trinity Street

Obviously, they weren’t thinking straight

Coming under undue pressure

Harry Finch, one of the store managers

Who works there

Says that sometimes you look down here

And it’s quite intimidating

left to rot for untold years

II

Cast the city in concrete

Culvert the river

1960s boom no room

For nurture or nature

Cup your ears

By Cross Cheaping

And you’ll hear

The slow flow Sherbourne

Gurgling towards Far Gosford street

The Ring Road is no longer safe

There is an Anarchist clerk in the Herbert Read

Who is planning an uncovering

Flood the mainland

A guerrilla outfit of Sherbourne settlers

Are worn from dry thirst

They fish and drink

Amidst the bins and back doors of murk

But the Sherbourne settlers will return

And with the neo-Syndicalist Herbert Read man

Will lead the whole of red-light Hillfields

And those still surviving in Wood End

In a big roadworthy boat

Down Palmer’s Lane

To the original town of Cune

In the spirit of Mikhail Bakunin

Where the first bridges can re-emerge

And even the nonrevolving restaurant

In the old Precinct

Will stand on its head and dance

In a torn Punk t-shirt and fishnets

Serving amphetamine refreshment

To the resurrecting sounds of Subway Sect

And the romantic urban poetics of Vic Godard

Who we all thought was dead

But he ain’t yet thankfully

Just like a confounding Christ

Once more our river run

Drink up jack up

Our reservoir rain

We are again drunk 

Now is our time to STRIKE!

III

In the fields of Hawkes End

There is a clear stream

Which has been calling my name

Umpteen times in crisis

It was almost dry

Until I forced myself to cry

Bucketing the tears

Praying through my cupped Psalms

To get it up and running

Took me untold years

In 1941, the worst era

When the Luftwaffe were eerily spot on

We all nearly died – I kid you not! –

But somehow we survived

Never denying our religion

We are still here flowing

Heading south to the Sowe

Despite our crises

we stay low quay

IV

All is obviously not well

In Swanswell

As a man

Described as a Polish exile

Last seen leaving a brothel

About 5ft 7in tall

White, medium build

With a short black ball of hair

Heading towards Cox Street

In the city centre

Is no more

And earlier

There were

Lots of unverified rumours

Lots of racist murmurs

Lots of police cars

Ambulances and Fire Lorries

Lots of Right-Wing skins

Out at Swanswell

Which is the last bit of water

The only survivor after Pool Meadow

Which once upon a year

Was much larger  

Part of a river

Before the final culver

Is now a West Midlands Bus server

So, all is not well

And the Polish exile

Who has been missing

For quite a while

Looks like he may have been killed

At Swanswell

Which joined with Pool Meadow

Was long ago

Part of Mill Dam

And once more

The disappeared river

May hold its horror

the immersed Sherbourne our tears

our murderous ancestors

drowning we surmise our Polish brother

V

As an emigrant also I too came originally

To this place much maligned

For being sent to

This place flattened by the Luftwaffe

Just like that

Which is just it – to be lost so fast

Brings insight

In short

I ended up happy to be

Sent right here nowhere else

Could compare

In this city, summer

Days mixed in with worn grey concrete

Some fight with guys or

Girls listening on Ghetto Blasters to

Ska. When Amy played You’re Wondering Now

At Glastonbury with Terry Hall et al I nearly

Cried with joy. Scratch that, I did cry.  

Dammers won’t reform for whatever

Reason. You can throw the book at

Him but his father was a Protestant preacher

So instead put your hands together Amy

Is dead now so no matter. Gangsters

All these years later still

Sounds great. Pork-pie hats

And second-hand suits. I remember

A Derek Raymond noir

Set in the Two-Tone era

Where the guy grills the

Girl for supper. That’s

What I call

Literature, buddy.

Never too happy to

Be here. The band

Couldn’t stand each other but

That’s just a mirror to society. Terry

Hall seemed always cranky

Enough. In Edenmore, we liked

That. In Coventry, we liked that

Even more. By the Pool Hall after

School.  My favourite

Graffiti was the Bob Marley

Album cover Exodus. There was

Only one black face

Back in Edenmore. He took shit

But it wasn’t racist. Promise.

Scratch that. It was.