Part of a series of poems written in response to Riverside Country Park in Rainham, Medway.

Distant buildings throw shapes into the sky
concrete columns and metal spikes
that once told of industry
pumped out noisy moments
dirty seconds
as nebulous as smoke
now still
monuments to silence.

‘Desolate’ is a good word
for this place, at least
and I wish I felt desolate here
but feelings rarely do justice to the landscape
too often we are just fine, actually
alright, you know?
bobbing along
content with existence

the scenery is wasted on us
all that potential imagery squandered:
dense and unfathomable grey skies
blood-red rusted shells of ships
the gentle salt-laced sea breeze
all could be brilliantly reflective
at a different time
if we were a different person.

How depressing –
at least, it would be
if I wasn’t so damned ok.