Indecisive brown stew, the river
ferries empty bottles and broken
cups, in the spent skum-streaks that, up-close,
hum like washing machine effluent.
Distant, the sky lends green, and disneyd
reflections await the night for wheel,
and Ben, to light bright and the blazing
Southbank Centre pull visitors from
over the water. Over, bridged over
wasted, dumbed-down water; jubilee bridges
raising pointy fingers at clouds, gulls
and look away, look away. Here the river,
brown-stew river, wanders in dim; dim,
dementia. Lost to the whispered,
homeopathic memory of
indecisive brown-mudded water.
City water, ancient capitalist
water. Thames water. Lost water.