Listen to the world’s best poetry read out loud.

(from ‘London Triptych, 2013’) 

From my neighbour’s jaw-stretch gentrification monologue, I surmise:  They  

 – men – are ignorant of the cost of a weave-on, while they – women – make  

no effort to know the price of a night bus; and only they – children –  excellent  

students of their own self-worth, do know the value of their lives. Two corpses, 

one called Brother and Son (again, I surmise)  bottleneck my road, stuck among  

the school-run traffic. A sharp voice conducts a maroon Volvo’s U-turn from the  

fifth floor. My phone dings. Rebecca  added #alllivesmatter. They’re expensive 

them phones, he quips. I bite my tongue and inhale black fumes, funeral flowers…