Cuperosa
I’d paint a mural onto
the Painted Hall of
an Old Royal Naval College
through the other side of a
Blackwall Tunnel -
of an A200 umbilical cord
Spanish chestnut trees
and the slipform core of your
wharf, Copperas Street,
a fontanelle opening again,
coarse mustard hail
on the rooftop garden,
winter-spring raclette
of a melting cannon salute,
tang of cement works
in this starry morning,
brilliant riverside
apartments clear and warm,
each floor foil blanket
wrapped, water in the creek
like hot, sweet, tea.
