Chelsea Creek is in my head

winding back through imagination

passing the scrapyard of Johnny Fenn

past the retorts of Chelsea Basin

and the teeming yards of railway trucks

diverting where the rails rise

to Cremorne Bridge and the postman's special

the southside Battersea conurbation.

 

Ducks dwell close to reeded banks

on Lots Road power station's flanks

and soon, so soon

the Marina will come

where once the barges tipped their coal

and chimneys belched

with the fires of hell.

 

At Sandford Manor Nell Gwynne resided

close by Chelsea and Fulham station

her portrait swung free from a tavern

ripped off when the brewery changed its theme

and bured a trace of the lover's dream.

 

Balloon ascents from here were common

where couples strolled by Thameside gardens

now The Balloon is a pub that survives

on Lots Road auctioneers it thrives.

 

Hereabouts on a summer day

the rising tide conceals the debris

of a barge's carcase ribbed in death

the boarding fit for frogs and spawning.

 

The Kings Road bridge divides the creek

from warehouse stumps

now nothing runs,

recollections of commercial needs

tarmacked over with the weeds.

.