<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The Monster London Fatberg<\/strong> <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n
\n
\nHi, Berg here. Call me Fats.
\nI slug-slither with the rats; creep-crawl, clog up the tunnel.
\nCity-cloy the disposables; white, non-perishable, two-hundred and fifty metres, –
\nconsistency unmentionable.
\nThere’s no green, blue, or black bin big enough for me
\nNo sack to hold this lard-fest in check. Flushed it all away,
\nyou thought it was gone forever, – the dirty nappy, those wet wipes, last night’s condom,
\nthe dribble-congeal of the Sunday roast. You fed our sewers
\nwith the residue of the animals of the world; as walking processors,
\nwhere the pipe goes nobody knows but I’ve collected it all
\nand now I am set-in as newfound ingesting-geography
\nfor the fleeting pink feet of rodents
\nwith my off-white, sog-stuffed, bilious peaks.
\n
\nThere are days when I feel beautiful, powerful, wasticus maximus
\nwhen I grow another stretch of gunk beneath Hackney,
\nmaybe you’ve smelt me ? through a blow-hole on your way to work
\nmy strench running parallel to the Metropolitan line.
\nYou don’t have ownership of your waste, it’s mine now; see me grow
\nbulge and suffocate the flow of excrement with tampons, toilet paper, cotton wool, hair
\nand finger nails; cotton buds in amongst the rats tails. Quick-creep my furry
\nlivers ‘n breathers, mould me with your tiny feet, breathe my sweat; engage me.
\nThe sewage treaters are coming for my heart and soul to a-boil me for fuel for London’s
\nbig red buses. Catalytic-calmed you will no-longer smell me as I hot-foot it up The Mall,
\nwearing tidy chemicals.<\/p>\n