Castellana North, a vertical chasm
Skyscrapers sprawl, but no sign of mankind
As yellow lights flicker, bendy-busses spasm
An em-two approaches, the plates unassigned
Hot smoke from the pipes gets lost in the fogs
Another coupe comes, painted nocturnal black.
Green men flicker, ready, they’ve shifted cogs
I meant to walk, but curious, stay back
On the curbside, I’ll spectate a live brawl
Men turn solid red, engines push and shove
twelve-cylinder harmonics make downfall
Shout! Lunatics usually unheard of!
remain present, for my joy. Do shout, please
make that forsaken noise, lost long ago in
the fury of diesels, hybrids, the lot.
Cops stare at the lunatics with unease
But the plates! oh the damned plates! not made clear
lunatics, chased by van, will never appear.