Golf Sale!
It's quite a challenge to walk down Oxford Street and not be impeded by someone carrying above their head a large sign announcing "Golf Sale!", with a fluorescent arrow instructing you where you must go. Most UK high streets suffer from this. To me, it reads "Cheap Social Mobility This Way!!", an opinion, tainted by my loathing of exclusive golfing communities, encapsulating our social ills.
Richmond Park.
2500 acre oasis of nature inside a mechanical city
the sky weighed down with a thick rug of grey, shrouding the calm sharp air
Kites swell and soar with each gasp of wind,
joggers trudge the grass,
lovers holding hands, oblivious to the world, interlocked hands breach the paths
Huge tree stumps look despondent as they litter the ground,
like a war zone, muttering tales of tragedy from a violent history
The ones that remain, of which there are many, are vibrant and proud, the base of the leaves all start at the same height,
precisely the reach of the tallest deer, plus a hair's breadth
I cycled around the park, twice, maybe, I somehow lost count
Puddles of mud fling to my face
Gradients conspiring against my wheels, always up, then always down, too fast
And as I marvel in the beauty
The purity of the park
A place of space, a city's holy grail
But
I speed past an old wooden shack
Proudly declaring
A goddam Golf Sale.