Tropic

Below the weathered streets and concrete,
soaked with Glasgow’s torrential day,
hidden under struts and enchanted cobbled lanes
an underworld exists. An archipelago of islands and peninsulas.
Air thick with tropics, creaturesof exotic shapes, brilliantly coloured.
They bathe in the light of orange vapour.
Rich drops of rain drip from the canopy unseen.
Lagoons between the tracks recline and startle
lights of vessels sailing by,
merchant ships of cranberry and spice,
metalled with metro cammell,
to mine its precious rock,thrum and thrash,
joining people with people
And then at the very edge of this humid world
bound by caramel and cocoa, a cold and hungry wind
embraces sad faces of those who leave this clockwork paradise.