In North Ealing, Utopians live
in ‘Butterfly’ houses
with pitched high gables,
curves and greens,
a magnificent church,
bowls and tennis courts,
next to the motorway.
Old oaks and yews,
the box hedge, garden paths
tucked behind, lead to secret
picnic spots. Time stands still
at ten to three, it’s time for tea.
They say that Fred Perry’s ghost
only wears his tennis whites
and strings cat gut onto a vintage racket.
Nothing changes, but
in times of trouble, Brentham’s yeomanry
never flinch – they always take up
their brush and paint their front doors
in conservation black.
Leave a Reply