Singular City

Money, densely packed
Warps space-time
Like a collapsing star
And forms a black hole

There's one in Central London
Near to Bank station
It appears each weekday, at sunrise
Sucking up a trickle of early risers
Feeding on cyclists and takeaway coffee
Growing larger, hungrier
The trickle becoming a flood

It used to dine exclusively on men in bowler hats
(Fussy black hole, can you imagine that?)
Now it eats anyone in a suit
(Open collar is fine, thank you)
Or a car
(Mercedes and Maseratis please, and do you have anything in matt black?)
Its gravity extends
Tentacularly
Along the mainline rail routes
Beyond the clogged M25
To winkle morsels from pools of high house prices
Wrap them in Range Rovers
And swallow them into its belly of steel and glass

In there, they work
Spinning time into money
Till, bloated and appeased
It spits them out
To live their lives

Until tomorrow
Until tomorrow.

#Poems #Writing