No home guard.

So sweep the streets of litter: the
Greased and finger print proof papers
Still containing food stains in their folds;
The smashed glasses and throttled bottle
Necks pooling mouthfuls of liquor spat back
In defeat; the defiant cigarette buts as fixed
And permanent as hands hung limply from the
Picking and the passing of the baton, and each
Shiny trinket more abundant due to the lack of
Corvine birds which flew once funding slumped.

And whilst you’re at it sweep up the
Streets as well; scrape the surface of the
Road away, the pavement and its pith, and
Shred them for the skip man’s business plan.
Take away the houses stacked for the soldiers
Of the revolution, brick by picture sash window,
And replace these fairest breeding dens down in
The deep with walls that replicate them, but are
No longer terraced for their dwelling, as hygiene
Has been inflated with the status of house prices.