Buildings hide the sun’s golden rod -

Grey giants reaching for the skies.

Blocks of colour break up their façade  -

Neon signs blinding my eyes.

Scampering fast, whiskers twitch –  

rats, each city-dweller’s pet.

“Get out of the way, bitch.”

Good deeds a growing debt.

Garbage, urine, lingering BO,

City’s perfume wafting to and fro.

Shouting people, clacking trains,

Urban’s best endless refrain.

Homes the size of a shoebox,

perpetual ticking and chiming of clocks,

residual and odorous exhaust,

counting down the days until life’s lost.