By Kenn Taylor
Daybreak on Anarchy Row
Hard sun
brings out the best
Long
bent
streets
Buildings
grand and shit
Scarred
by thousands of bombs
Real and
those imagined
by people who
mistakenly thought
they had the answer
The young
form into groups
for protection
and dominance
Shuffling
in bus stops
Long spliffs
burning through the day
Eyes
smiling with power
Kings of their own world
and
always ready
to come into yours
Help them
Condemn them
Say those with powerful places
to place words
Wringing their hands
in broadsheets
over lost communities
they never knew
nor understood
Communities that
have better things to do
than read them
Beats blare out
from bohemian neighbours
who keep doors locked
firmly shut
from the ones
who’ve been
running around
these streets
since childhood
Short on innocence
and peace
Down the road, the economy grows
Shiny flats and restaurants boom
Clean, honest, our bright future
Expensive lattes and
colourful
breakout
workstations
A world away
from
running down
shooting
Big people
Big ideas
Big machines
Coming for you
Do-gooders
and money-grabbers
try to intervene
To save
or
exploit
But everyone
just carries on
Anarchy Row
however much they try
will not conform
Respectability
is not required
Supplying as it does
drugs
women
all the
good times
All the needs
of those respectable folks
with respectable jobs
respectable houses
respectable families
All of it
lies
If you have mean eyes
second-hand guns
You can earn big money
If you do as you’re told
A tinted BMW
and a skinny blonde
If you do as you’re told
And
never
ever
GRASS
Stupid
or strong?
Organised
Refusing to
absorb the lies
You can’t shift cocaine from
Mexico
to Islington
by being a fool
As the light dims on Anarchy Row
people hit their stride
Taking the profits
down town
Glass and steel bars
where money
is all that matters
Italian suit
two bottles of Crystal
Not long before
the ladies
swarm around
Back on the darkening roads
and decay
Old men
from the times of
marches and strikes
still loud
but bitter
sit ranting
in the
few pubs left
But no one is listening
anymore
Older ones
from a different world
cower behind
still-clean
net curtains
while the kids
stalk around
‘Watch lad, we’ve got guns round here’
They do
but they also have bullshit
in tonnes
To justify the attacks on
those not locally born
and
shitting on their own
if they fail to conform
Fear is not permitted
Failing to question
until it’s too late
Blood on hands
A fate sealed
Just another bad example
that no one takes heed
Back out soon
kudos increased
moves up the food chain
till someone bigger
has their next meal
This is the law
that’s governed people
since the start
I’m the fucking hardest
so I’m in charge
The rest of you come and try
As a system
it’s not pretty
but it works
Not everyone
though
falls into line
Every second building
a community centre
of some kind
Forces fight
for soul
Both sometimes winning
But for every one
who gets out
two more
fall down
This is Anarchy Row
Infinitely richer
and poorer
than you can possibly imagine
This piece appeared on Northern Spirit in November 2012.
Kenn Taylor 