Cycle of Folly
Let's hope Sebastian is at home
in his Stratford velodrome,
and Londoners remain as keen
to pay 'til twenty seventeen,
when Olympic memory's failed
and cracks appeared in pine they nailed,
when woodworm's summoned Rentokil
who've sent a tidy larval bill?
And when the roof, now aged a bit,
is rotting under birdie shit,
will cyclists find that other capers
preclude stints as faeces scrapers?
Will a putrefying 'Pringle'*
make the local pockets jingle
and its upkeep every year,
400K, appear small beer?
Will hindsight show that legacy
is very largely lunacy?
Will twenty twelve's co-adjutants
recognise white elephants?
My guess is public money spent,
despite Olympian intent,
will emerge, surprise surprise,
as gifts to private enterprise.
Should you find this view morose
bserve a Dome that's very close.
However unconvinced you are,
see SE10's peninsula.
*( Nickname of the £93M Olympic Velodrome.)