City Poem Under the iron bridge, office workers, wet with rain, crowd on coaches & trams. I stay by the river & watch them go. Everything is flowing now, a hissing juggernaut of lorries, cars, buses, passenger trains – varying streams of atoms in rapid motion – racing ahead of time; streaking by factories, allotments, tower-blocks, back-to-back slums; terminating or turning at the last suburb, at the conurbation’s edge, where the sun slips down the sky, into a