And now the meadow’s black, burnt

to a cinders that will not

see the ball or the glitz and glamour

of the magazine, the photographer

squeezing out one more frame,

one more plea of pout baby, look

down the lens and think of England

as you smoulder and create electricity,

the meadow is black, corrupt, shameful,

shameless, the meadow primed for real

estate development to sell more dreams

of home ownership, till the banks come knocking

at the door, rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat, economy

to scale, a large slug festering, dripping coins