Remixed Found text: “Bleak House” by Charles Dickens,
and my recollections of December 1990, Bletchingley, Surrey
When Air is Scarce as Wood
No one inhales the air so near the street –
it’s blued and greyed, even in rain, and
it fills a rattling nostril sooty as coal.
We still burn coal in these parts; cheaper
than wood is scarce, but nobody inhales
the air unless your lungs be so filthy
from roll-your-owns. Or if you’re that man
sat on that bench outside the post office,
that man who’s under a blanket of booze.
The air is full of lorries and buses, so
no one inhales the air so near the street.
Recollections of December 1990, Bletchingly, Surrey