Is there poetry in the parking lot?
In the grid like lines of Milton Keynes?
Behind the scenes the dead wind rustles and shakes water's sea-ward dreams
Is there poetry amid the reeking refuse and overflowing bins?
Here is a flutter of wings as the flyer burns with freedom's fire and turns upon the wind to the sound of the evening choir
'And what about you? Is it in you too? ' it sings.
Is there poetry in the harsh reflections of the glass
In the regimented streetlit boulevards?
Underground the village ghosts turn and float their frosted lips across the cars
In stars and patterns etched along each stretched out hand of every tree
And lace-like silhouettes where startled birds take off in muted moon-like light
Turning to the sun mid-flight
'And you? Is it in you too? ' they cry.