There’s a church for sale on London’s roads

Cast-iron railings line the walls,
their sore tips black
in November Air.
The ‘To Let’ sign looms
above the door;
it’s been on the market now for years.
A procession of cans
line the steps
absolved from wind and rain.
The only ones who see the sign
can’t afford the sale,
we sit and drink
and rub our pennies
and know we
weren’t meant
to be saved.

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