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You must be finished; you’ve been here so long,
But what’s the story, where did it go wrong?
A successful buffer to our city’s bus station,
But you hardly fill folk with joy or elation.

A bare concrete slab dividing the garden,
An ugly monstrosity, not so much as a pardon,
Someone designed you and someone felt good,
That you were being built in our neighbourhood.

But bare slabs unfinished? a blank canvass maybe,
But what was the thinking,it really perturbs me,
You’re screaming out for some decorative attention.
Our own Berlin Wall in Piccadilly bus station.

I know you’re there to keep the bus noise at bay,
But you’re deffo not finished, not on my life, no way,
Some bushes or foliage would look quite good,
A wall of greenery to lessen the thud,

Of buses braking and dropping folk off,
A memorial surely would finish you off,
Street art would work or a scene from our city,
You look such a mess and that’s such a pity.

Coz you must fill tourists with abject shock,
To see something so ugly or maybe they mock,
Maybe they think you’re not finished yet,
Or just run off screaming full of regret.

Put something up there; give us something to see,
Cover it in our fine Manc history,
I really couldn’t care if it’s discrete or loud
Finish off that wall, go on do us proud,

Coz even graffiti would look miles better,
Than those grey blank slabs, I might write a letter,
To the council to beg them to make you look nice,
And make Piccadilly Gardens a more prettier of sights.


Copyright©2011 by Phil Martin

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