High Rise Flats Poem by Tom Billsborough

High rise, high rise,
Tenements for the poor,
Slung up to the skies
Like a self-serving prayer.
Lifts that are broken,
Stairways forever,
Smelling of urine
And smelling of danger.
So be on your guard
If you are a stranger.

High rise, high rise,
Graffiti all over,
Parked in a wasteland
Of minimal care.
What of the people
Who have to live there?
Some may be dealers
But they're everywhere.
Haunts, you say, of the criminal class
But I have to say, that's hardly fair,
Since it's the big Criminals
Who have put them there.