I think I only walked down Fleet Street once,

my grubwork year in London. Not much wowed,

not like I’d heard - most rags no more ensconced

but fled to Docklands - the street name but a label          

for billionaire media magnates trumpeting loud

reactionary taunts and celebrity libel.

I had an inkling then: there was a proud

historic river, sadly much polluted,            

oozing somewhere under like a noble           

hostage in a stinking oubliette.             

When joking with my friends we’ve often mooted

how pertinent it is this street should be

crouched above a river that is yet

a sewer piping shit out into the sea.